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MIRIAM;

OR,

THE POWER OF TRUTH.

A JKWISH TAIiB.

BY THE AUTHOR OP ' INFLUENCE.'

THIRD EDITION. Z* .. •- * - " -^ \

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PHILADELPHIA:

KEY & BIDDLE, 23 MINOR STREET.

1836.

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THE NSW YORK

PUSUC UBRARY

487102A

A^t^% UH§X AND

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PREFACE.

The tale of * Miriam ' now offered to the public is
founded on an anecdote said to be a well-attested fact,
which the author nfiet with some months ago in the
'Cottage Magazine,' where the narrative is briefly
detailed with great simplicity and elegance ; of an
American Jew, converted to Christianity by the death
of his only child, a beautiful girl whom he had reared
with no common care and affection. She embraced the
Christian iaith unknown to her father : until with her
dying lips she confessed to him her apostacy from Jur
daism, giving him at the same time a Testament, with
a solemn injunction to believe in * Jesus of Nazareth.'
This anecdote appeared to the author a good outline for
a more elaborate work, as furnishing ample subject for
imagination, and considerable ground for instructive
information. How iar the author has been enabled to
fulfil the task thus proposed in the undertaking, is a
question which she fears to meet ; but, trusting to the
indulgence of her readers, she feels emboldened to hope,
that the moral of her work will shield it, at least, from
severe criticism. For the rest, she sincerely unites with
all who may condemn its errors ; fully aware that many
flagrant imperfections both of composition and design
have marred the beauty of its original outline. Circvm-

PREFACE.

Stances also, over which she possessed no control, have
Sbeen greatly against a favorable execution. More than
once arrested by long and severe illness, it was scarcely
possible to preserve an entire consistency either in the
style or story ; and the latter part has been completed in
the midst of many arduous duties, which, differently '
occupying her mind, have proved a further interruption ;
but, nevertheless her efforts have invariably been exert-
ed, throughout the whole, to do her best ; and may a
divine blessing rest upon the result, making it — feeble
as it is in itself — subservient to the good of its young
readers. To this end has the effort been principally
directed, and so faras religious information is conveyed,
the author earnestly hopes that it will be found free
from any thing objectionable ; having in all that she has
advanced in support of Christianity, most conscientious-
ly endeavored to keep the gospel in view ; and to incul-
cate such principles and opinions only, as that will
strictly authorise.

In now taking leave of the public, the author begs
to acknowledge, with the liveliest feelings of gratitude,
the indulgence and encouragement with which her las^
Avork, * Influence,' was favored : and should * Miriam '
happily meet an equal patronage, it will not be less
appreciated or forgotten.

C. A.

Newport^ Isle of Wightj
Fdf. 1826.

. . i

MIRIAM

CHAPTER I.-

On tEe northern bowlers of Westmoreland lies a ra^
mantic vaMey shelterisd on every side by cliff or
wood,, and seems in its deep retirement, singled out
as the abode of peace and simplicity. Tiie humble*
dwellinffs of industrious peasantry, together with a lit-
tle rujBtic church, and ivy-covered parsonage, alone'
formed the sweet village of Glencairn, which once
stood in the centre of the valley. Secluded from the
noise and bustle_of a gayer world, it might have seemed
to human ken almost as a nook spared from the curse
of universal misery;, but lost amid the more magnifi-
cent scenery of the north, it was famed for nought, be-
yond itrlisimple wildhess, and" loved only by those-
who lived in it. But the Human heart ever carries a>
universe within itself, and" many have there been at
Glencairn, to whom the joys and sorrows, and all the-
checkered vicissitudes of the world, were known.

It was near this glen, divided from it only by a nar-
row branch of a river, which we shall her« call' th«'

6 MIRIAM.

Avona, that Imlah Durvan, a rich Jew, had chosen hifl
splendid abode. None knew the stranger to whom
Fernhill, the loveliest and wildest spot of nature's
rearing, was now consigned; but many wondered,
while all regretted, that a place, which had so long
descended from father to son of a noble and lamented
family, had now fallen to the possession pf one who
seemed to live a sullen alien from mankind ; for to all
the friendly greetings of those who had been wont to
court the tenants of Fernhill, Imlafi Durvan returned
so repulsive and determined a negative, that none now
sought the society of thai strange misanthrope. But
although he thus shunned communion with human
beings, he was often seen rambling down the wooded
cliffs which overhung the valley, as if he loved to
revel in the rich blessings of nature, not unmindful of
its gifts. Nor could any deem this seeming loneli-
ness of disposition as shame or conscious guilt ; for he
would pass the villagers, whose curious gaze might
have appalled the mere feeling of pusillanimity, or
coward fear of scrutiny^ with a mein at once so bold
and dignified, although so dark and silent, that none
dared refuse their humble token of respect ; nor was
this ever unreturned, though the haug^r bend which
answered, seemed rather to increase tHfefear than ex-
cite the love of those to whom it was given.

He was, however, seldom seen without one gambol-
ing by his side, who formed a striking contrast to his
own melancholy character. The joy of innocence
played upon the bright countenance of the dark, but
Deautiful girl, upon whom alone Imlah seemed to
smile; and whenever, in playful mood, she raised her
soft black eyes to court the fond endearmdit of her
father, they were answered by an expression of such
deep and touching tenderness, that none who saw him
look &US fondly on his child, doubted that he had a
heart, however sad the destiny which had so chilled it

. MIRIAM. 7

to misanthropy and gloom. Well indeed might he
love this little mountain flower, fer ^he ; was the last
link of that broken chain of bliss which had bound
him to all the fancied pleasures of the world : but time
had taught him the fallacy of ambitious hope, and left
him an outlaw from mankind, to cherish, unpitied and
unlored, thp dreadful curse of hardened unbelief.
He was one of an ancient and powerful family, now
reduced to a few scattered remains ; but stiil did he,
in all the pride of fancied greatness, boast of possess-
ing a genealogy which proved him to have descended
even from the lineage of David. He was by birth a
German, Hanover having been the refuge of his ances-
tors since the dreadful persecutions of the unhappy
Jews, under the intolerant policy of Richard the First.
But he had been principally educated in England, at a
school in which, under the liberal monarchy of our
later kings, a Jew as well as Christian might reap the
rich benefits of literature without molestation or un-
due enactions. Naturally of a daring, impetuous
temper, he had early imbibed ail those feelings of
enthusiastic devotion to the cause of Israel, which
tended so fatally to inspire those of passionate hatred
against every class of Christian people; and on the
death of his father, fired with the vain hope of ambi-
tious glory, he returned to Germany, when scarcely
beyond his boyhoood, in full possession of unbounded
wealth. Thus did Imlah begin life, with a mind bent
upon the restoration of^ his alienated race ; believing,
in his mad enthusiasm, that he could overthrow the
Christian #hurch, and frustrate the designs of an of-
fended g4p He soon became popular among his
own people, who looked up to him, as they would
have done to their prophets of earlier times, with
mingled feelings of* reverence, love, and fear! for
with all his bold and haughty hardihood, there watso
much of generous integrity — and where he loved, so

8 mirU]m[.

.•...'•• •

much too of gentle tendernessr in his disposition— that
none could hate, and few there were who did not Tove
the character 'of this young and daring Jew. He mar-
ried the daughter of a powerful ruler, and settled' in
Gottinggen for the purpose of obtaining more general
influence amongSt the many Jews in that part of Ger-
many. A few months, however, terminated the suc-
cess of his infatuated careers for no sooner did the
ecclesiastical powers of the province ' discover th^
storm which was gafheiing over their chifrch, than
they obtained license rigorously to enact against the
Jews the merited forfeiture of Tebellion ; and Imlah,
deserted by the very people who had before so warmly
upheld him, left the country, his generous heart sick-
ened by the ingratitude of those to whose welfere and
restoration he had Been so fatally devoted. He had'
lost his only child, a boy on whom he haJ raised
many a bright prediction; but so assured was he of
future greatness, that, even in his desertion, he antici-
pated the revival of hiis pawer m the birth of /m ex*
pected heir. But^ alas ! he was to be humbled and
taught the devices of God by a still heavier stroke ;
for he again became a father, but of a female child',
and that same hour widowed him Of his first of earthly-
. treasures. He couU have afmost cursed the birth of
that sweet infant, whose sex is considered amonorst
the Jews a degradation, rather than a blessing; but
when he saw it sleeping in its peaceful innocence, he
raised it to his bosom, and felt he could not but love
the last sweet relic of her who had been to him the
gentlest — best of beings! He had nbt dreamt of
death, and it had fallen where he could mast bear it ;
but it came a messenger of mercy to fflP self-willed
heart, for he knelt down, and for the first time hum-
bled under a sense of his own arrogance he prayed
that God would spare him from further vengeance,
and bless the babe, whom, ia his bitterness, he had wolL

MIRIAM. 9

nigk cursed. Oh • had the Redeemer'^ name then
passed his lips, who can tell what mighty workings
might have wrought his salvation in that dread hour
of acknowledged shame and contrition ! But, alas !
he rose an unbeliever, and suffered still an unbe-
liever's unblest, tin happy meed. Regarded with a
suspicions mistrust^ he was watched with a vigilance
that ill suited his independent mind ; he, therefore,
resolved to leave t&e continent and seek refage in
England, whither he immediately sent his child, while
he returned to Germany finally to settle his affairs.
His little Miriam and her nurse were consigned to
the care of Mendez, an old Rabbin, who had loved
him even in his adversity, and now promised faithfully
to discharge the responsible office assigned to him
with all a father's zeal. In case of his death, or a
longer separation than he anticipated, Imlah desired
that Miriam should be educated in the strictest observ-
ance of the Jewish faith, to be early instructed in the
ancient languages, and above all, never suffered to
hold communion with a Christian. With these in-
junctions, to one who fie well knew was competent to
fulfil them the wretched Imlah parted with all that
was now dear to himt and repaired to Germany,
where, however, he remained only a few months, and
then bade a long farewell to the land with which
were associated the remembrances of his happiest
days. In a country Uke England, where every one
possesses an eqjual right of independence, the Jew as
well as Gentfle, may safely rove in unsuspected liber-
ty, to enjoy all the privileges of peace and security.
To Imlah, this was so new a feeling, that when he
found himself unwatched and broken-hearted, he
could have doubted the reality of the crowded scene
before him, and almost wishea that, even in the vio-
lence of eijmity, he could recognise some kindred
hnm] to disturb the untold ai^tl hidden gripf which

10 MIRIAM.

then lay so silently within his heart ! But no eye
turned to scrutinise his own, and he passed through
the giddy maze of thousands as lonely and as desolate
as if no human heing were linked with sorrow such as
his. He soon reached the abode of his child, and his
faithful Mendez welcomed his unfortunate patron as
joyously as sad associations would permit. Sick of
the world, and hating all mankind, he resolved to seek
some distant retirement where he might live, forgot-
ten and unknown, in sole devotedness to his young
Miriam's happiness. For this, after a few years' resi-
dence in England, he purchased Fernhill, famed alike
for the magnificence of its building, as for the beauty
of scenery by which it was surrounded. There he
fixed his final abode, and chose such an establishment
as would ensure the means of comfort and luxury for
his only child. Jews of every age were employed in
the various departments of husbandry and work. All
was magnificence and splendor ; nor was any thing
spared which ingenuity could contrive, to render the
whole a paradise of beauty. Mendez, as the Rabbin
and ruler of this little colony, was suflered to maintain
all the authority to which hiS age and religious situa-
tion entitled him. He still continued the tutor of
Miriam ; and although he was too austere a teacher to
inspire in her young heart a warmer feeling than that
of veneration, he loved her as a second father, and
spared no pains where her education was concerned.
Thus was Miriam at the age of sixteen, placed in a
sphere of splendor and unbounded indulgence; but
accustomed as she had been to view the dazzling toys
of wealth, they were little heeded now, although jsne
knew that for her alone they glittered : for it was
enough that in her father's heart she was the first and
loveliest of them all, and that there she shone, like a
k)nQ and radiant star-^more bright becsujse the only
one that cheered his long dark night of grief. Dark

MIRIAM. 1 1

was indeed that heart, for little could the sense of a
self-righteous hope bring peace to a soul, wrapt within
the veil of prejudice against the awakening truths of
light and revelation. But, alas ! Imlah believed that
conformity to the moral laws and ordinances of the
ancient prophets was enough to ensure his salvation j
as if such poor, such undeserving services, could can-
cel the heavy debt of guilt which lies in every human
heart, for which the Son of God himself took up his
crosSy and paid the high ransom of his sinless blood,
that in him all nations of the earth should receive
pardon and eternal life. O lost, unhappy Israel ! why
will ye then so blindly gather thorns in the midst of
blessings, and drag on thy wretched yoke of shame
and sorrow, when there is One, so mighty and so pa-
tient, who only bids thee to belier^e and cast that yoke
on Him, that He may bear the dreadful weight of thy
unequalled woes ? But this dispensation lies in awful
mystery, beneath the vale of God's omnipotence, and
to Him must we submissively leave the time of Zion's
glory; — but may every christian pray that it may
please Him speedily .to *pour upon the house of
David ' that promised spirit of * grace and supplica-^
tion,* which shall lead the fkllen children of Isreal to
* look on Him whom they have pierced,' and in His
sufferings to find life and immortality !

Much as Imlah had lost of that spirit which had in
early life so distinguished him, sorrow had subdued
rather than destroyed the enthusiasm of a noble
though perverted mmd ; so tHat he sank not now to
the effeminacy of indolence, but in retirement from
men, he sought society in books, and happiness in the
deep stores of science. Miriam was the only one who
dared disturb hours thus engaged ; but for her he would
always leavd the toil unfinished, and take some lighter
task m whicjn she too might be employed. He assist*
ed her in translating from the original languages, the

12 MIRIAM-.

ancient scriptures of Moses and the prophets, and read"
to her such of the Jewish records as might best inspire
her with love to her country and religion. But Miriam
needed no incitement to rouse the spirit of enthusiasm,
which she sufficiently inherited from her father. Jose-
phus was her delight, and she would dwell on the for-
mer greatness of her country as if she already believ-
ed its restoration at hand ; while, with an animated
countenance, she would talk with all the wildness of
her boundless imagination, of the day when ven-
geance would repay the • fancied wrongs over which
her young heart would often bleed. * O father ! ' she |
one day exclaimed, * will not our Messiah soon retrieve I
the injuries of Judah, when he shall come, the mighty
conqueror, to spill the blood of all our enemies ! I am
but young, and surely I may live to see that glorioue
day ; and if that blessing he indeed mine, you shall see,
father, how I, woman as I am, shall wave the banners
of our faith amidst the bleeding heapa of those detested
Christians !.'

Imlah.tujned aside to hide the tear which fell cm
the remembrance of his own earJy ambition, and sigh-
ed to. think that such a noble spisit was indeed confin-
ed within a woman's breast. * Miriam,' he replied,
with a mournful tone which told how deeply was
that subject even felt, * Messiah tarries long, and God
hides his face from us for sins perhaps yet unatoned;
but, fox our great prophet's sake, He will not always
chide. "We are his chosen people; then let us wait
the fulfilment of his dread prophecies, in more strict
fulfilment of those righteous laws which can alone en-
sure our deliverance.'

* And yet, father, how can we strictly observe laws ;
so few of which we have it in power to fulfil ! * Where
is the altar upon which Moses commands us to raise in-
cense of the blood of rams ? ot how can^ our guih of-

MtRIAM. 1

er its atonement, when we kave no high-priest to inter*
cede in our cause?'

* He, who to humble us has laid that altar to the
dust,' replied Imlah, * will not require a sacrifice not
in our power to effect. He asks of us now only
hearts which can boldly assert the rights of Israel,
and, amid the scoffs of infidels, can bear to betheir
by-word and reproach, rather than yield one atom of
our faith. We must discern truth from falsehood, and
beware that we intermix none of the new sophistry of
impostors with the only true religion of our ancient
fathers. Forbearance will be our atonement, Miriam ;
and a firm belief in the power of Shiloh, who is yet to\
coroe, shall be our passport to the favor of God. We
have mifch, indeed, to try our faith; but although
the calculations of men have erred, he is faithful who
has numbered the year of his coming : and hastening
this by a patient obedience to his will, we shall yet sit
in heaven his elected people, to bea-r witness of his
trutfe ! But come, my child, we have had enough of
study for to-day, so let. us ramble to Roland's cliff, to
see if old Isaac has finished the seat which I ordered
to, be placed for you under your favorite beech.'

Pleased with this proposal, Miriam prepared for
her walk, and soon rejoined her father, her counte-
nance beaming with all the smiles of cheerfulness and
joy : so soon can the young heart forget the sadfiess
which, in theory only, it has learnt.

The path leading to Roland's cliff had been cut
through a mass of rock forming a powerful barrier
along the banks of the soft river, whose waters gliding
peacefully below, formed a beautifiil contrast to the
awful cliffs, which seemed to frown defiance on sur-
rounding nature. Nothing could exceed the luxuri-
ance of the wild foliage with which these cliffs were,
covered. Tree* on either side, that scarcely found a
» ' ; bed for their stretching roots, rose in majestic beauty

14 MIRIAM.

above the humbler shrubs, which, clinging to thes
bold protectors, afibrded a rich covering to thei
mouldering bark ; and wilder flowers crept or hung ii
careless tendrils down the rough crags which laj
broken from their parent stock. Steep and varie<
was the ascent ere the summit of that cliff could b^
attained which bore St. Roland's name ; but the minc^
could scarce tire where so much of beauty met th^
wandering eye. Here and there a grotto lay inge-
niously concealed within the deep recesses of some
narrow cave, embowered by arches of the dark and
glossy laurel, and seemed to court reflection where
no sounds but those of conscience could disturb that
noiseless solitude. This was the favorite walk of
Miriam, and often would she wander up and down the
wooded banks, heedless of the dangers to which she
was sometimes exposed in climbing about the steep
precipices to gather the wild flowers which blossomed
so luxuriantly in every sheltered nook. For even
when not alone, seldom could she confine her own
light steps to her father's slow and measured pace ;
but she would leave him only fQ|% while to run some
shorter way, that she might surprise and gladden him
by her playful truancy. So now it was, when she
' stood on the turrets of Roland's tower, beckoning her
father, who had turned to look for his wi) gazelle,
(for so he often called her when thus pleasett,;but still
naif frightened, he found his laughing girl, and saw
her raise her eyes, so black and yet so soft, to court
some mark of gladness from his own. She left her
hiding-place, and taking Imlah's hand gave him a
basket of mountain flowers which she had just gather-
ed. He set down and took the basket from his child,
for all that pleased her was pleasure to himself ; and
while thus engaged in looking over her little trea-
sures, Miriam unperceived had linked together some
sprigs of small blue flowers, \^hich she playfully threw

MIRIAM. 15

across her father's neck, aqd kissing him asked if he
knew the name of that humhle plant. * I fear/ replied
he, * that I must refer you to a more useful memory than
mine ; hut Mendez will tell you hodi its name and
class.'

* O yes/ exclaimed Miriam, * I daie say he would
answer in Hehrew, Greek, and Latin — and even tell
me on what mountain Noah first discovered it. But
it has a name so swdet, and of such simple meaning;
that now I never see it without thinking it a fit memo-
rial of my love for you, dear father ; it is called * For-
get-me-not : ' is it not a pretty name ? '

* It is a fenciful one at least, my child,' said Imlah,
pressing his fond and playfiil Miriam to his heart
and pleased with her affectionate ingenuity, asked how
long she had discovered the magic character of this
new favorite, and from whom she had learnt it.

* From that pretty little fair girl, father, whom we
so often see sitting at the door of the white cottage,
and of whom you once said, it was a pity she should
be a Christian.'

' How came yoU t^peak to her, Miriam ? ' enquir-
ed Imlah, his countenance darkened as if disturbed by
some new apprehension.

Miriam, unconscious of the solemnity with which
this enq' ^\y was made, answered in the same tone of
ingenuoti^ vivacity : * Not many evenings ago, I was
rambling about the valley with Corahi and in returning
through the coppice we had an argument about this
self-same plant. Corah thought it was a species of
Campanella, and I said not ; so just to satisfy ourselves,
I asked the fair girl whom we met, if she could tell
tne its name ; upon which she gave me some which
she held in her hand, and said it was called * Forget-
me-not.' I could scarcely help smiling at her sim*
plicity, but before I had thanked her she ran away, as

i jid

16 MIRIAM.

if she dreaded botanical catechisms as much as I do
geological ones, when Mendez is my catechiser.'

* Or rather,' exclaimed her father, his countenance
flashing with angry pride, * she has already been taught
to dread contamination from the daughter of a Jtw ! —
but remember, Miriam, that although we Walk in a
strange land, the very scoff of all mankind, we need
not stoop, that Christians may trample on the worms
they hate. Be Imlah's daughter, and rise above their
narrow taunts, by teaching them the dignity they want:
but never, Miriam, court their vile reproacnes, by lev-
elling yourself to their society.'

*/court the society of those who would dare reproach
my father's name?' haughtily exclaimed Miriam:
*did I court Lord Crawnford's daughter, when, as we
past at Dunstan's Abbey, she whispered in my hearing,
• There goes the swarthy Jew, who is too rich to visit
a Christian Earl ? ' Did I not turn and smile con-
tempt upon her poor scorn, and throw aside my dark
hair, that she might better read upon my forehead bow
proudly I could own the name she thus despised?
But these poor humble cottagers, father, are too igno-
' rant to hate us ; and in that very ignorance does every
peasant of Glencairn offer their simple tribute of .re-
pect to the tenants of Pernhill, unconscious of the
ifference which lies between the Gentile and the Jew.
I know it is said, * an eye for an eye, and tooth for
t ooth, but surely we are not told to look evil on those
who hate us not.'

* To your own discretion then I leave you, my child,*
said Imlah, mournfully; for he had now jseen enough
of Miram's mind to fear no weakness from one sq
sternly taught. *Bitt see the sun is setting, and we
have a long walk home.'

Miriam took her father's hand, and pressing it in
grateful acknowledgment for the confidence thus re-
pose^||bi h.er, lefl his side no more during their return

' MIRIAM. 17

home. She saw that he had been wounded, and en-
deavored to disperse the gloom which had thus gather-
ed round his heart ; for though he professed to rise
above the prejudice of the world, he felt that he stood
among mankind a by-word and a proverb,' and it wa*s
this very curse which lay so deeply rankling in his
breast. But vain were now even the attempts of his
child to dissipate the gloom of Imlah, as he thought of
the future, in which her happiness lay in such painful
uncertainty. He had long resolved that she should
never mix with the general society of the world, until
her mind had attained its fullest vigor, that she might
be enabled to contend with the difficulties of her situa-
tion, and follow a more decided line of conduct. But
now he saw that like Rasselas in the happy valley, she
longed to explore beyond the paradise he had given
her, and that it would be impossible to confine her
within the limits of his own guardianship. He felt too,
that dearly as she loved him, she might well yearn for
beings more like herself, to soar with her into that world
of fancy in which youth delights to revel. This con-
sideration deterred him from his purpose of forbidding
Miriam her rambles to Glencairn, which he had formed
on first hearing of her interview with the fair cottage
girl : * for after all,' thought he, * these humble crea-
tures can do no harm to a mind so far beyond their own
standard, .'and pleased by their simplicity, she may
wish to seek no higher novelty. Then let her go, and
may their ignorance be our safeguard ; that while, like
her own mountain weeds, they amuse the hand which
;Btoop8 to gather them, they can never poison one
which soars to pluck the fruits of a more ennobling
soil.'

Thus did Imlah reason of human nature ; but alas !
he new not the ways of God, who from the mouths of
babes and sucklings hath ordained such wisdom as

.-•

i.t

18 MIRIAM.

may often mock the gray hairs of age, and break down
the mighty babel of philosophy !

CHAPTER II.

A merry peal of bells, which rose and died upon
the breeze as it passed over the valley of Glencfeirn,
attracted the attention of Imlah as he was slowly de-
scertding the wood which overspread the sloping de-^
clivity of the lower rocks. It was seldom, perhaps^
that ms'theughts could be diverted from their deep mel-
ancholy by any outward appeal of sense or sound ; but
now he stopped to hear, and, though he knew not why,
he turned to regain the summit of the clifll that he might
better listen to the music which had thus stolen upon
his solitude. A merry group of children, decked iri the
earliest flowers of the season, were dancing in the val-
ley belowy in honor of the fifst of May while all nature
smiled upon the scene, as if to celebrate with them the
birth of spring.

Imlah sat down to gaze on the little actors of that
busy scene, and almost smiled as shouts of laughter
came upon the breeze, inviting every heart to throw
aside its sorrow, and unite in joyous praise with those
to whom sorrow was as yet unknown. Not a spot was
seen to dim the brightness of the ieep blue sky, save
herded there a white and fleeting cloud, which, pass-

MIRIAM. 19

ing swiftly; with the wind, seemed but to shed a cooler
freshness oyer *^€ sunny day. The birds warbled
their sweet notes m harmony with each other, and even
every breeze, as murmuring through. the woods breath-
ed a soft SQ*ind|^^ if to whisper that universal jubilee
was there. T^ Iplah all this wns but as a dream, or
lik^ some vivid painting that revived the memory of
days now * gt)ne beyond the flood,' and joys to be real-
iseid in life no'more. But he had a kind and gener-
ouf heart, atnd loved to look upon the mirth of child-
btod ; so now, while he hoped that time would hasten
the decline of his own dark day, he almost wished that

*<ii>l^ these young blossoms it would arrest its swift ca-
reer, and linger over the season of such buoyant de-
li^s. But whei;e w^s Miriani, while every other'
young heart was cfenter^d in that rural throng ? — Im-
ith arose a* he thought of her, and immediately call-
ing taa gardener, working* near him, said, * Go to the
Rabbin, and' requ^4 that he will kindly spare Miss
Duf\can .tajne this morning, and bid her meet «ie
at Roland's tpwer.' He wais hastily obeyed, i^ncf had
ncft lo*ig to w&it at the appointed place ere Miriam's slight
form appeared between the branches which overhung
tbe5)ath. Breathless she ran towards her father, and
kissing him a thousand times for this unexpected sum-
mons, seemed like. a young antelope escaped from its
keeper's care, while the warmest exclamations of sur-
prise were nttered,-as the landscape opened to her the
merry scene below. * Oh ! father how much prettier,'
said she, * is this than a May-day in London, where
the poor little chimney-sweepers, covered with their

' faded flowers, ofler but a very uncouth emblem of
spring. Do let us go into the valley and see the chil-
dren with their pretty baskets, singing and dancing so
happily together.' Seldom could Imlah refuse a request
urged with an expression of such fond assurance : and
Aow as Miriam hung about his neck, her soij^yes

20 MIRIAM.

E leading in silent eloquence all that her he^rt desired,
e thought that never had she been s6 dear to kinif so
irresistibly enticing 1 The exercise of running had
heightened the bloom upon her cheek, and ber cottage-
bonnet, thrown carelessly ffora her hc^, scarcely con-
cealed the glossy hair which lay parted on her fore*
head ; so that she looked as if nature, in the midat of
all that morning's beauty, had still chosen her its fa-
vorite. * Come then,' said Iml^h, * let us go down tnd »
see if between us we can untie the boat, that we B*iy
lose no time in crossing.' Mirian^ waited not anolb» ^*
er moment, but jumping from the stone on Wiich she
stood, ran forward, almost impatieni at her father'^ liis^
eager steps.

St. Roland's tower stood on th^ summit of the high-
est cliff, and was so called from st)me turrets which
had been circularly placed at the edge of the precipiae
to secure the safety of those who walked along the
eminence, which would otherwise hs^ve been danger-
ous from the deceptive appearance of the wooded beds
sloping down to the bank below. Behind it rose a
still higher point of rock, in which was a' long and in-
tricate cave, apparently formed by the interior having
decayed and fallen into several detached arches. This
was fancifully called St. Roland's, or the Giant's Cave,
in consequence of an immense projecting figure inge-
niously cut dut of the rock, and which, holding a mas-
sive ball of stone, appeared as if bending down to
guard the mouth of the cavern. This recess led to a
flight of narrow, broken steps, cut for the convenience
of attaining the bank beneath, without the necessity of
walking a considerable distance to reach it by a better
path. Along this declivity Imlah now led his delight-
ed child, and accustomed as she was to the intricacies
of such scenery, her pliant limbs were not long in ac-
complishing the precipitous descent. Arrived at the
bordja| of the river, she assisted her father in remov-

MIRIAM. 21

ing the boat from an arch, under which it generally
rested, and guidriig the helm, while Imlah worked the
oars, they were in a few moments landed on the oppo-
site shore. Here they stood for a While to contemplate
the altered landscape which now lay before them, as if
some fairy power had been there, so suddenly did the
scene appear transformed from all that was lofty and
terrific, to every thing fertile and serene; and as they
turned to look at the gigantic cliffs which now rose be-
hind them, they almost felt surprised at the immense
height from which they had so easily descended. The
valley lay smiling in the fullest verdure of an early
spring, while here £^nd there clusters of most exquisite
foliage, enriching every sloping bank, softened and
adorned the scenery with indiscribable beauty. The
^00, grazing on their flowry pasturage, seemed to
their share of rural comfort, and added to the

nolean aspect of universal happiness.

The visiters now walked forward, and after crossing
a few fields to reach the glen by a shorter way, found
themselves at length in the bosom of the village.
Here all was hilarity and harmony. Even the aged
and the poor seemed to partake in the general mirth,
while sitting at their cottage doors or leaning on their
long staffs, they smiled to look on the playful truancy
in which they could not share. The children were di-
vided into two circles ; the one appeared composed of
the higher ranks of villagers ; the other, though
equally happy, seemed that of a poorer class. The
former were arranged in little groups round a tall may-
pole, which was tastefully encircled with wreaths of
w^ell selected flowers. These at the moment of Im-
lah*s first appearing were sitting on the grass, as if to
rest from their happy labors, talking and laughing
with the usual vivacity of thoughtless childhood ; but
immediately on seeing visiters, they all as by one con-
sent arose, and arranged themselves in respectf^ order,

22. MIRIAM.

that their flowers might be better seen. Silence far /?
few moments followed this interruption, when one of
thje children, evidently the chosen queen of the day,
taking a bfeautiful wreath from the maypole, ran down
the mossy mound on which it stood, and as Miriam
passed offered it to her with a sweet but respectful
smile of recognition. At any other time, none would
probably have dared thus to intrude upon the notice of
one so haughty and so feared ; but this was a day when
all seemed united and at ease, as if nature would per-
mit no fetters of human pride to confine the freedom
which spring had that day restored throughout crea-
tion. The very heart which was enclosed within the
chilling atmosphere of misanthropy, now yielded to a
more genial sympathy, and Imlah could not withdraw
from the unexpected kindness of a simple child, al-
though a Christian's hand thus offered it. He smiled
permission thei*efore as Miriam looked up, uncertain
whether she dared accept the wreath, and in a tone of
more than his usual suavity, he thanked the little girl,
in whom he recognised his daughter's unknown favor-
ite, and then inquired her name.

* My name is Jessie Stuart,' she timidly replied.
'And where do you live? ' asked Miriam.

* In that white cottage,' answered Jessie, pointing to
one not far distant, * and if you are tired, I am sure you
will be welcome to go in and rest.'

This Miriam refused ; but taking off a bracelet of
small coral beads with which she was profusely orna-
mented, she gave it to her young favorite in return for
the wreath. Jessie, who had probably never owned
such an ornament before, seemed scarcely to believe
that this was really intended for herself; but, upon
again receiving a request always to wear it, her blue
eyes sparkled their brightest thanks, and clasping it
round her wrist, the delighted girl felt as if she scarcely
knew of w^hich to be most proud — the gift, or the hon-

MIRIAM. 23

or of receiving it from Miss Durvan. Many a ques-
tion would probably have followed from Miriam, who
longed to know more about the child and her family,
had not the ringing of a bell arrested her attention ;
and upon inquiring the cause, Jessie told her that it
was to summon the villagers to a dinner which was to
be given that day at the parsonage. Hearing this, Im-
lah begged they might not longer detain her, and was
about to leave the village, when a young man of pre-
possessing appearance came forward, and respectfully
apologising, invited the visiters to the parsonage ; add-
ing, that it might please Miss Durvan to see the chil-
dren dining on the lawn, as it was altogether a pleas-
ing and gratifjnng sight. Imlah haughtily, though po-
litely, expressed his inability to prolong his stay in the
village, but Miriam pleaded so earnestly and affection-
ately against this, that he was at length prevailed upon
to accompany Mr. Howard to the parsonage ; where,
leaving Miriam to gratify her curiosity, he coldly bade
good morning, saying that he would prefer walking up
and down the green until Miss Durvan might be ready
to return home.

Miriam looked entreatingly at her father, and felt
half tempted to relinquish a pleasure which he w'ould
not share ; but he had already turned away, and the
scene before her soon dissipated every other idea. On
a smooth lawn, overshadowed by shrubs now in their
fullest beauty, were spread several tables, some occu-
pied by the poorer children of the village, while at the
others sat the aged and infirm, anc^ these were attended
by the same young people who had before been sitting
round the maypole. Mr. Howard placed a chair for
Miriam at a respectful distance from the rest, where
she might still see all that passed without sharing in
more of it than was consonant to her own feelings ;
then taking his station at the uppe^ table, he devoutly
asked a blesfeing fronv God on the enjoyments thus

24 MIRIAM.

vouchsafed through his mercy for the sake of One at
whose sacred name every knee there bowed. The din-
ner then commenced, and when finished, thanksgivings
again filled the air, and all but Miriam rising, the
sweet voices of the children were heard uniting in the
following simple hymn :

Jesus ! to thee we fain would bring
The earliest offerings of the spring ;
Did we not know that every flower
Blooms buL to own thy sovereign power !

Eeach virgin lily as she bends,
To thee her purest fragrance lends ;
And birds, for thee, delighted raise
Their untaught melody of praise.

So, fain would we some strain prolong,
Pure as creation's sinless song j
But, ah ! unworthy of the task,
How dare we thy acceptance ask 7

And yet as spring renews the hynm,
Sung by thy saintly cherubim ;
Oh I let not our hearts be cold^
Nor silent while thy gifts are told.

But give us souls more meet to sing.
The praises of our heavenly King !
Bid every year increase our love,
And fit us more for joys above.

Then, Savior, when this world be o'er,
And thou shalt bid spring wake no more j
Oh ! let thy children rise on high,
Their Savior's name to glorify!

There was a touching solemnity* a grandeur, even?
in the very simplicity of praises tnus so devoutly, and
yet so humbly offered ; an awful stillness seemed to fol-
low as the last cadence of the song died away, which
filled the heart of Miriam with %, new, an indescriba-

MIRIAM. 25

ble fearfulness ! The feeling was oppressive, and yet
she scarcely wished it changed, but almost wondered
why she dared not mingle her own voice in a hymn so
pure, so sweetly simple I Tears filled her eyes, and
she sat leaning on her hand scarcely conscious that the
song had ceased, so intensely were her thoughts fixed
upon the sounds which had thus deeply touched hey;
till Mr. Howard, who observed how much she was af-
fected, came forward, and with a cheerful smile, express-
ed a hope that his little flock had pleased her, at the
same time diverting her attention by pointing to the

Eoor old people who were then receiving bread, which
e told her was a customary gift on May-day. Miriam
expressed herself pleased with all she had seen,, but as
she feared her father would be tired of waiting for her,
she politely declined remaining longer, and was leav-
ing the lawn, when one, dressed as a widow, and who
appeared far superior to any she had seen, advanced to-
wards her, and apologising for the liberty of detaining
her, begged to return the bracelet which Miriam had
given away* * Pardon my doing so,' said she, * for al-
though I feel truly obliged to you, Miss Durvan, for
your kindness to my little Jessie, I cannot suffer her to
accept so valuable a gift.' Miriam, who immediately
guessed this to be the mother of Jessie, was for a mo-
ment surprised by her lady -like appearance and man-
ners, but holding back her hand, as refusing to take
.the bracelet, she exclaimed, * Indeed, Mrs. Stuart, you
must let her have it, for I have more coral than I know
what to do with. To me, I assure you, it is quite use-
less.' ,

* And to her it will bo worse than useless,' replied
Mrs. Stuart, * for she will probably never be in a situa-
tion to justify her wearing such an ornament. Take
it back then, I entreat you, but rest assured that she
will equally remember your kindness to her.'

This was said in so decided though mild a tone of

26 MIRIAM.

voice, that Miriam dared not further urge the gift 5 she
therefore took it back, promising never to forget the
May-day at Glencairn ; and then hastily ran forward
in search of her father, whom she found silting on the
• bank not far distant, wrapt in his usual melancholy
musing. He received his daughter with his accustom-
ed welcome, but there was evidently a restraint, an c/i-
^efl'.vor to be pleased, while listening to the vivid de-
scriptions of all that passed at the parsonage. Miriam,
however, dwelt cautiously on all that might have ex-
cited the animadversions of her father, slightly alluding
to the sweetness of ihe children's voices, in reply to his
inquiry as to what they had been singing; but she de-
scribed in glowing colors the generous kindness of Mr.
Howard to the poor people, \vho seemed to enjoy their
dinner, as if such a one were but rarely tasted. Imlah
here gave his purse, and desired Miriam to run back
and distribute its contents amongst them ; adding with
a gloomy smile, * Go, child, and cancel your morning's
feast, that it may never be said an Israelite stands in-
debted to a Christian priest.'

Miriam was too much delighted with the mission to
heed her father's sad apostrophe ; for she knew that
thus his generous heart would always pour kindness
when distress or poverty excited its sympathy, al-
though in bitterness he would often bestow it. She
therefore ran to deposit the charge with Mr. Howard,
requesting him, from her father, to give it where it
might be most acceptable ; and without waiting to re-
ceive his thanks, she was soon by Imlah's side.

On their return home, she talked of little else than
Jessie and her mother. * Is she not a sweet child?'
said she, anxious to impress a feeling of kindness to-
wards her new friends ; • and as to Mrs. Stuart, if she
were not a Christian, how dearly could I love her !
She is so gentle — quite a lady, I assure you, father ;
and, I dare say, has known happier days^for there is

I MIRIAM. 27

something very sad, even in her soft smile.' Thus did
Miriam talk, scarcely heeded by her father, until, on
reaching home, he desired her to go and prepare for
dinner, and then calling to Isaac, he asked him if he^
knew any thing of the Stuarts of Glencaim. Isaac,
who was a deep and thrifty Jew, leant upon his spade,
as if to recollect himself, while he raised his small
keen eyes upon his master's countenance, to see how
far he might venture to proceed upon the ground of
such inquiries ; for he had observed Miriam's visits to
the valley, and guessed that she was, in some way,
concerned in his master's present curiosity. He there-
fore replied that he knew them well, and that a ' better
family never lived among Christians.'

*Ay,' replied Imlah, *but the best Christians are the
"worst apostates; but is she one of those always sing-
ing psalms, andtalicingof her own cursed creed?'

* Never heard her sing a psalm in all my life, mas-
ter,' replied Isaac, ' and in my heart, I could verily
believe she is more than half an Israelite, ' for she al-
ways speaks kindly to me whenever I go that way.'

* To question you, I suppose,' said Imlah, frowning,
*how Jews expect to go to heaven ; ' — then after a short

. pause, he added, * Pray did Mrs. Stuart ever talk to
you about religion, or offer you any books to reacJ? '

* Books ! ' exclaimed Isaac, archly shaking his head.
* No, faster, she is too good a lady for that, knowing
that I like not to meddle with heresies ; and I'd be
bound to say, that she wouldn't be a Christian if she
touldhelpit; but it isn't easy, they say, to get out of
the minister's church when once in it, master.'

Imlah, satisfied in his inquiries, and not anxious to
prolong the ready rhetoric of his gardener, now lefl
him^to his work, and returned home to' muse on the
past, with little hope for the future.

The following day was to be one of solemn fast to
the inhabitants of Fernhill. Imlah, therefore, in pre-

r. J- i '

28 MIRIAM. I

paring Miriam's mind for its celebration, took the op-
portunity of enforcing the necessity of maintaining a
rigorous fulfilment of all the ordinances of Moses, as
far Eis their straitened circumstances- could admit ; ' To-
'morrow, then,' added he, ' rise, Miriam, with renewed
vows to God and the prophets ; for though we have
now no high-priest to wave the sacred censor, and lo
sprinkle the blood of atonement upon our altars ! — no
temple in which to offer the smoking incense to the
Holiest of Holies !— let us still pour out the sacrifices
of prayers, fastings, and oblations, in firm reliance on
the sufficiency of our obedience unto God for our sal-
vation ; while upon our hearts are engraven the cove-
nant of our fathers, in letters, Miriam, not to be effaced
by the specious mockery of a» May-day, or the low arts
of Christian apostacy ! But while I thus warn you of
snares which encompass the hapless aliens of Judah,
and bid you beware how you walk in a land not our
own, I can no longer restrict you, my child, to the
limited sphere of our household. Jessie then may be
your plaything; but remember, Miriam, I charge you
solemnly against revealing the sacred mysteries of our
own religion, or listening to the cursed idolatry of
hers! — and though I believe you far too noble, too
high-tninded, to stoop to the littleness of infidelity, yet,
while I expose you to the choice of it, I swear by all
that is sacred, that if ever you apostatise from your
religion^ or join in Christian worship, that very hour,
Miriam, shall I curse you — and in curses, such as
never yet fell from a parent's tongue.'

Here Tmlah ceased, and pacing up and down the
room, seemed as if the very thought had wrought an
agony he could not bear ; while Miriam, trembling un-
der denunciations so stern, so dreadful, covered her
face with both her hands, and for the first time felt the
sorrow of a wounded heart. The sight of tears, such
as before had never bathed his Miriam's cheek, recalled

, MIRIAM. 29

Imlah to himself, and awakened every feeling of pa-
reiltal tenderness. • Miriam, my own best child,' said
he taking her hand and pressing it to his heart, * look
up again and smile upon me, as thou art wont to do! —
I did not mean to wound your fond and duteous heart
— I know you would not, could not turn from God and
leave me desolate ! Believe me, dearest, I trust you,
fearlessly as I would trust my own heart in all that you
could try it.'

Miriam sobbed aloud as she now hung upon her fa-
ther's neck, but recovering herself at length looked up
and said, • O father ! could you even for one moment
doubt the fond obedience of your only child ? Let me
kneel down, my dearest father, and do thou bless me —
with ten thousand fervent blessings, that I may foi^et
those fearful curses before I sleep this night ! — and ne**,
veil will I look on Jessie Stuart again, if it can give
you a moment's grief.'

Imlah blessed his child, and pressed her fondly to
his bosom ! * Now rise, my Miriam,' said he, * and at
dawn to-hiorrow we shall meet together in the syna-
gogue, where let us pray for each other as for ourselves ;
and may the glory of Israel be soon restored in us, tjle
waiting renrtMint. of her faithful people.' Miriam fen^^
vently a««en*ted to this prayer, and d^ her father for
the nigk : but, for the iiraft tim% her young heart waji
overwhelmed, -aad wishing to be left poliOf to medltale
on all that had passed^hat day, she seftis^d even the
attendance of Corah, a young Jewess, who wms her
usual servant and oompaniom

Although scarcely seventeen, Miriam was far beyond
the general standard of that age, in acquirement 'and
understanding ; for besides being naturally gifted with
great intellectual quickness, she had been so completely
modelled by the rigid tutorship of Mendez, that she
was very early led to the study of all that could
strengthen and enlatge her mind; so that now her

30 MIRIAM.

thirst for knowledge was unbounded, and the more dif-
ficult the problem, the more delightful to her was the
lesson that taught its solution. Thus too was her
judgment matured beyond the narrow compass of a
child's comprehension. Her whole character was de-
cisive, vigorous, and enthusiastic ; her feelings lofty,
and her imagination vivid ; yet with much of what the
world would call romantic^ she was perfectly free from
the littleness of that romance, which tends so fatally to
weaken, if not dei^troy, each ' nobler power, while it
feeds the worst passions of the human heart. Her
mind was, however, always consistent with its pursuits ;
for though she loved to wander amid the intricacies of
science, she as much delighted to run wild in all the
siiilplicaty of childhood. It was tlius that her feelings ^
Mad been swayed by the passing events of that day, and
that now she sat down in the retirement of her <*vn
room, to inquire why her heart felt so sad, so changed
from what it ever was before. There was a strange '
contradiction in the events before her, which filled her
min(i with ensotions of mingled fear and wonder!
Brightly had that day dawned, and yet why had it ^
cjpised so heavily ? She thought of Glencairn — of the
^Stuarts — ^pf Mr. Howard — and with these happiness
was associated, tghe thought of her fatherland the '
sorrows of her couyitrj^, and owned how 4ittle could *
Wealtk or sple:!ad^ give that peace, wiick stemed to •
rest on fche JiuaiUe cottagers of th^ glen, * And yet,'
thought she, * why is it that God thus smiles upoti . a
nation of idolaters, while ♦Israel is left to mourn, a prey
to wretchedness and scorn? I She thought of the
world since man had first known sin ; but at what pe- '
riod had the Almighty suffered with impunity the
apostacy of His people? Did He not follow with His
dread vencreance the worshippers of Moloch and of
Baal ? Was it not for the v^ry iniquities of Israel that
Jerusalem was smitten — her glory extinguished — and

■t* j^

the sacred vail of her temple rent, till one stone rested
not upon another, to mark the place whereon it stood?
It was because of sin that Messiah tarried, and that
Zion even yet w;as left desolate, while her daughters
stood oppressed, alienated, and accursed ! Why then
had no darkness intervened between heaven and that

' hymn of praise, which Christian children had that
morning offered in Christ Jesus' name ? Peace seemed
iltetonly answer, and gladness filled each heart, as the
sdiemn song ascended, while every tear which fell
#eeitied but the overflowings of rejoicing souls ! And
yet, how could He, who had called himself a ^jealous
God* thus look down with favor upon a people who

% idolised, and made supreme, another name but his 1
^hese were fearful inquiries, and Miriam virisl^d that
she better knew upon what authority Jesus had been
received as the Messiah. But here again she remem-
bered her father, and those dread curses which had
fallen from his lips, even at the very idea of her be-
coming a Christian, and a fliwh of shame deepened on
her cheek, as she arose,^ almost surprised, that for a
single moment she could thus argue against her own
creed. * O no ! ' she exclaimed, ' my father need not
fear it, never shall Miriam turn %postate from Israel's
sacred cause ; but rather, may Judah yet be glad, and
Mount Zion rejoice in the faitlrfidneBS#of her daughters.
Then,' added she after a moment of deep thought,
* why do I dare question the mighty will of God, be-
cause, of fintte compif^hension, I cannot attain to in-
finite knowledge ? » The rod of Jehovah's wr^th still
rest upon Israel, but it is enough that we know Mes-
siah will yet raise it, in promised pardon of her iniqui-
ties, and give her in hi^own good time, the crown of
universal conquest. Then shall the idolatry of this
people be put to shame, and all the fancied triumph of
its present glory be laid in dust before the all-conquer-
ing sword of our avenging Redeemer ! '

32 MIRIAM.^

- Thus did poor Miriam drive away the dove of peace,
which would fain have left upon her soul its sacred
branch of truth : but, alas ! that soul loved darknesf
more than light, and now, in ignorance of healrt,
soothed by the fetal sophistry of a deluded imagination,
she knelt down to pray — but for what ? — for a min^v
more hardened in its unbelief, and but to draw down
continued vengeance on her people, as in the language
of her liturgy she asked, * Let there be no hop^ *to
them who apostatise frbm the true religion, andflet
heretics, how many soever there be, all perish in a mo-
ment.'

She now rose, and strengthened, as she thought,
agsainst all further doubtings, she jsat down to prenare^
hir mjnd, ere she slept, for the morrow's solemn Aij^fe

CHAPTER lit

More than a month had elapssd since the May-day
at Glencairn, when Imlah brought a basket of early
fruits to Miriam, and giving it to her, said, • Here,
child, send this, or, if you like, take it yourself to the
glen, and give it to your little cottager, for I hear she
is ill, and may therefore find fruit the more acceptable.'
Miriam, who since the evening of her father's displea-
sure had carefully avoided speaking either of the Stu-
arts or the glen, now looked up surprised on thus re-

MIRIAM. 83

ceiving permission to renew a visit she had almost con-
sidered as for ever prohibited ; but grateful for so un-
expected an indulgence, she took his hand, and with
tearful eyes replied, * Nothing of kindness from you,
dear farther, should surprise me ; but tell me, is it really
your wi^ that I should take this to little Jessie? for
believe me, I have no desire to seek pleasure, where
your will could be in the least opposed. I have every
thing to make me happy at Fernhill, and I should be
ungrateful to require any pleasures beyond it.'

* Fernhill, my child,' replied Imlah, mournfully, yet
touched by the affectionate obedience of Miriam, * is
but a small portion of a world in which experience
must be learnt. Go, then, and see how human beings
are linked with sin and sorrow, and drink the cup of
Israel's curse, which every Israelite must taste in tett^
fold bitternesi^, who stoops to take it from a Christian's
hand.'

The Rabbin, who had set silently listening, while
apparently intent only on astronomical problems, now
. sternly raised hii^ deep dark eyes from beneath the
clouded brow, which had lowered at every word just
spoken, and clenching his swarthy hand upon the huge
volume that lay before him, he indignantly exclaimed,
* Beware then, Imlah, how you expose her to the evils
you thus denounce. Your prudent warning, methinks,
is but a weak talisman against dangers so mighty and
so many ! ' Few could have dared to look thus re-
proachfully upon Imilah, and none but Mendez would
nave ventured so to oppose the purposes of that stern
Jew ; but Imlah, as if half conscious of deserving the
rebuke, only bade Miriam depart on her mission, and
then turning to the Rabbin, calmly replied, * It is my
wish, Mendez, that Miriam should now establish a char-
acter on experience and opinion, and be suffered to
act and judge more frequently for herself She is not
now a child, and may soon, perhaps, be left an orphan,
with no Mendez to guide, no Imlah to protect her

34 MIRIAM.

through a world so full of dangers ; and better let her
meet them while a parent's hand can counteract the
poison of their touch.'

Mendez bit his lips, and turned up the sleeve of his
robe, that the sacred phylactery, which bound his wrist
might be better seen, and preserve him from what he
deemed such heresy, while he answered ; * Is it not
said of the Lord, * sanctify unto me all the first-bom of
Israel,' and yet can Imlah dare cast a daughter of Israel
to Christian dogs, that she may learn their idolatry,
and turn from the faith of her fathers ? '

Imlah passing his hand across his cold brow, ex-
claimed, * Tell me, Mendez, where can a resting-place
be found for our children, in which Christianity has not
^ised her fatal bulwarks ? Vain must be our attempt
to build a nest, over which the accursed vultures would
not hover. O Mendez ! did you know the bitterness
of sorrow, which sometimes rends my very soul, when
I think on the future destiny of that lone and beautiful
bird, you would more gently touch a string which ever
wakens a chord of agony within her father's heart. I
have long since devoted Miriam to the Lord, and I fear
no weakness from a mind armed with feelings such as
hers.'

* My son,' replied the aged Rabbin, softened by the
sorrowful forebodings of Imlah, ' human feelings yield
to human frailties, else would Israel's glory not now be
humbled to the mournful tomb in which it still lies
buried. And should Mitiam add to its degraded ashes,
remember, Imlah, that / wash my hands from the
guilt of her apostacy.'

« I trust we need not fear it, my good Rabbin,' said
Imlah, ' for Miriam is, I am sure, above yielding to the
narrow reasonings of mad fanaticism, and those hum-
ble peasants can have no power to swaiy a mind exalt-
ed so hi above their own. . If, then, to play with a
pretty child can sometimes beguile the monotony of a
life, wrapt as our own must be, within the veil of grie^

MIRIAM. . 35

surely we need scarce deny so innocent an amusement ;
and Miriam will only return from her plaything the
more decided in her opinions, when she has seen the
fallacy of those we seem so much to fear. It is heneath
«s, Mendez, thus to tremble at a reed, for not more sta-
ble is the sophistry of Gentile fools.'

* God and the prophets defend us from it, and hasten
the establishment of ZionI' ejaculated the Rabbin.

* These are, indeed, most awful times, and mine eyes
are well nigh wasted with tears, while I wait with long-
ing soul the coming of our great Deliverer I '

The aged man rose, as if to conceal the inward
struggle, which almost subdued the stern fortitude of a
heart not often wrought to weakness such as this, and
ashamed of the feeling, he hastily brushed away tfife
tear which stood vpon his wrinkled cheek : then turn-
ing to Imlah, he said in a constrained and peevish tone,

* Is it also your wish that Miriam should waste her
young days in idle play, and forget those nobler pur-
suits in which so many years of toil and anxiety have
been employed 7 If so, then is Mendez an old and use-
less burden in his master's household.'

Imlah advanced towards him, and pressing his hand
between both his own, with reverent affection replied,

* Mendez, my friend and father, do not so mistake me.
I should indeed be unworthy of the esteem I so much
prize, could I be insensible to the parental kindness
with which you have educated nay beloved child. Be
still her guide — her counsellor^ — the guardian of her
mind and education ; nor cease from that affectionate
•zeal with which you have led her to the cultivation^of
every ennobling science. You have made her all I
•could ask or wish ; audit is because isee her mind
matured to a decision of principle seldom attained by
one so young, that I would now leave her unshackled
by the authority of a school-room discipline, to follow
the dictates of her own unbiased judgment. She re-
quires no incitement to industry, and I have sometimes

36 MIRIAM.

thought her health endangered hy too close an applica-
tion to abstruse study. A ramble to- the village now
and then will refresh and do her good, and perhaps less
evil is likely to arise, if we authorise, rather than op-
pose so natural and innocent a desire. This, Mendez,
is, believe me, the result of many wakeful nights and
anxious days ; for never would I wantonly endanger
my sweet child by hastily yielding to the mere weak-
ness of a parent's heart.'

The Rabbin, who had impatiently paced the room,
resolved not to heed any vindication of what he con-
ceived a most palpable indulgence, now moref clo.sely
drew around Him his long loose robe, and folding his
arms across his breast, which was always a known
Ijiarjt of displeasure, murmured, * Pshaw ! sophistry !
every word of it absurd sophistry! The ridiculous
reasoning of a perverse and obstinate mind ! ' But Im-
lah heard not these angry epithets, for aware how use-
less jt would be to argue against the Rabbin's opinions,
he had left the room, anxious to spare himself further
discussion on so painful a subject.

It was not long before the venerable teacher recov-
ered his usual composure ; for although violent when
opposed, and resolute in his own opinions, yet if once
he found it vain to combat another's argument, he
would soon forgive the offence of contradiction, and
comfort himself with the assurance of being perfectly
in the right himself, though every body else whose
sentiments deviated a single letter from his own were
wrong. So now he again sat down, and exclaiming,
as he was Avont to do wheniever about to appease any
mental storm, * Well ! Moses defend me in such awful
times ! * He renewed his astronomical labors and soon
forgot that they had been interrupted, excepting indeed,
that whenever a thought of Miriam crossed his heart,
his brow would lower, and he would audibly whisper,
* Pshaw ! ' as if suddenly disfcirbed by some inward

MIRIAM. 37

pang, which he would fain have bartered for indiffer-
ence. . ■

Nor could any long feel angry when' Mendez had
reprovred, for- with all his stern and dictatorial severity,
thei^e was so much of warm and faithful zeial wherever
he professed himself a friend, that it was scarcely pos-
sible not to value and respect him, or to feel insensible
to the generous disinterestedness of his disposition.
Like an aged patriarch he watched over the family of
Imlah as if it had been his own ; and although he had
numbered threescore years, he had still much energy
of mind' and character. Few could look at him with
indifferent feelings, for although his figure was diminu-
tive and bent with age, he was too commanding a char-
acter to be even personally contemptible. His dark
eyes were nearly concealed by the long, shaggy broivs
which overshadowed them ; his haii^ was nearly white,
and his peaked beard, which h^d.been suffered to grow
long, gave his countenance an expression of such stern
decision, as added considerably to his venerable ap-
pearance.

In the mean time, Miriam, delighted with her mis-
sion, had hastened to the glen, and soon found herself
at the gate of the little white cottage, which she had
60 often longed to enter. But now she stopped, as hesi-
tating how she could best apologise for the intrusion of
such a visit; for she had seen enough of Mrs. Stuart,
to feel assured that she was above the humble station
to which she appeared reduced; and in such a vicissi-
tude there is a sacredness, which, to a delicate mind,
forbids even the appearance of obtrusive curiosity.
Mrs. Stuart, however, soon relieved her from her em-
barrassment, for being at the moment employed in ar-
ranging her pretty parlor, immediately on seeing Miri-
am, advanced to meet her, and in answer to her inqui-
ries respecting Jessie, told her that she was still very
ill, for although the measles which she had had were
passed, they had left an inflamation on the chest, which

38 « MIRIAM.

was likely to prove fatal. Here tears trembled in the
mother's eye, but endeavoring to control the feeling, she
added, that perhaps it was scarcely safe to ask Miss
Durvan to enter a house where measles had so lately
been.

Miriam replied, that having had them she feared no
infection, and should like to see the little invalid, if she
were sufficiently well to admit her ; upon which Mrs.
Stuart, expressing herself obliged by such an attention,
placed a chair for her guest, and left the room to ascer-
tain if Jessie were awake. She soon returned, and
leading the way, conducted Miriam up a narrow flight
of stairs to a neat room, where Jessie lay on her little
white bed, and a pjeasing girl sat by her side with a
Bible on her lap, which she had evidently been reading
to her. She arose as Miriam entered, and fastening up
the curtain that the invalid might be better seen, she
mildly asked Jessie if the light were now too strong
for her. Jessie shook her head, and asked to be raised,
affectionately bidding her sister sit near her, that she
might rest her head on her shoulder, as if fearful that
Helen should resign her station in compliment to the
stranger.

Miriam, who had seen little of illness, could scarcely
conceal her surprise at the sad change which one short
month had wrought on the beautiful countenance of her
whom she had seen playing iu all the bloom of health
and spirits. And yet she scarcely looked less happy
now, for a sweet smjle rested on her dimpled cheek, and
her blue eyes expressed as much of peace as when light-
ed by the laughing mirth of a merrier heart ; but suffer-
ing had softened them to seriousness, and had laid on her
young cheek the flush of fever, as if it fain would leave
the semblance of the rose its untimely touch had with-
ered. Miriam's warm heart melted at the sight of
youth, thus blighted in its early dawn ; but fearful of
evincing alarm to the sufferer, she simply assured her

MIRIAM. 39

of sympathy, gave her the fruit, and hoped that she
would soon he hetter.

Jessie raised her languid eyes, and smiled as half
hashfuUy she gave her hand to Miriam, in grateful ac-
knowledgement of her kindness, then faintly answered,
* I shall get better if it pleases God/

* And if not, my poor little girV fervently exclaimed
Miriam, * may you safely rest on Abraham's bosom ! '

* I would lather lie on Jesus' bosom,' innocently re-
plied the child : and fondly looking at her sister, she
added, * for Christ will not cast even little children from
Him — will he, Helen ? — so I ought not to be afraid of
dying ! '

* No, my Jessie,' said Helen, tenderly, * for of * such
is the kingdom of heaven,' and whoever comes to Him
in humble trust, * He will in no wise cast away I "

A deep flush here overspread the countenance of
Miriam, and anxious to change a subject which she
felt she dared not hear discussed, she said, addressing
Mrs. Stuart, * It must be a great comfort to you to see
Jessie so patient, and so fearless of death ; but I hope
she will live many years .yet, in the full enjoyment of
renewed health.'

* It is an unspeakable mercy, Miss Durvan,' replied
Mrs. Stuart, * that while my sweet child is thus reduced
to the weakness of infancy, her soul seems the more
strengthened by that hope in which the Christian need
not fear to die ; and though it is a pang to part with
those we love, I should be worse than selfish, could I
wish to retain an angel from her Savior's glory ; for
as He is faithful, whose word has promised victory over
death, so I believe my child will rise justified in Christ
to everlasting joy ! His grace alone has taught her
how to die, and I trust that the same power will give
her strength to overcome the last conflict of mortal
feeling. To His will, then, I desire to resign her,
since in mercy to us all, and not in anger, she is per-
haps about to be removed from many a coming evil.'

40 MIRIAM.

The fond parent's voicis here faltered, so difficult is
the practice of the resignation to which her soul as-
pired; and other thoughts than those of the departing
little one rushed on her mind, as thus she sought sub-
ject for thanksgiving even in the bitterness of that cup
which otherwise she might have dared to wish could
pass away. Silence for some moments ensued, for
every heart was full, though different were the feelings
with which each were oppressed. At length Jessie,
who could ill bear to see another pained, pressed Helen's
hand more closely to her bosom, and_, looking at her
mother, with a sweet smile of submission said, * Dear-
est mother, don't talk about me any more, for it always
makes you and Helen look so sad, that indeed 1 cannot
bear it. Come and sit upon my bed, and if you will
feed me, I should like to eat some of Miss Durvan's
fruit.'

Mrs. Stuart obeyed her, and the child, playfully put-
ting a strawberry in Helen's mouth, said in a cheerful
tone, * See, mother, I can feed Helen to-day, though yes-
terday I could not feed myself I wish Edith were
bfere, she used to be so fond of strawberries.'

Miriam, fearful of fatiguing the invalid by remaining
longer, now took her leave, assuring Jessie that she
would soon repeat her visit ; and taking Helen's hand
she begged her not to move, as Jessie looked too com-
fortable to be disturbed. *But,' added she, ' I hope,
Miss Stuart, we shall yery often meet again — and re-
member, that whenever your patient requires fruif, we
have plenty at Fernhill, which I beg you will consider
as your own.'

Helen blushed as she simply thanked her^ for sh»
was a timid girl, and ever shrunk from the prbffe^sions
of a stranger. ^

Miriam now left the cottage, but the remembflltjc^ of
that morning's scene was never afleri^ards efl^'feed.
She had seen death stripped of its terrors, but she
knew not by what power ; nor dared she ask what was

.«

'#^i

MIRIAM* 41

the Christian hope, in which even a child of ten years
old could so joyfully have fallen asleep ! No flattering
unction of assured recovery had raised the placid smile
which sat upon the sufferer's brow. She had heard, as
it were, the untimely warrant read, which seemed to
commission her young soul away from earth and earth-
ly pleasures; for the pious mother had, with an Abra-
ham's faith, bared the bosom of her child to meet in
unresisting submission the death-stroke which hung
over her ! To Miriam this was ' a mystery, and she
tried to forget that they were Christians in whom she
had thus seen the picture of resignation so sweetly re-
alised. ' O would,' thought she, ' that they were Ju-
dah's children, then would no delusive voice whisper
* peace ' w^here there can be * no peace ! ' and they
might indeed rejoice in Abraham's love — that love
which now they seem fatally to scorn ! And yet must
it be that vengeance shall overtake these pure in heart,
who perhaps in ignorance, and not in wilful hardness,
ofiend against the living God ? Must this child be ac-
Qurs^d, who seems too innocent for sin ? or on whom
shall fall the guilt of her idolatry ? O hapless apostatcfs
of a nation ' void of counsel,^ would that ye were * wise
to consider your latter end,' to find your portion in the
Lord, your inheritance in the * lot of Jacob.' '

Witii these thoughts Miriam turned again to look on
the sweet cottage, over whose inmates she would fain
now have wept. But O, could she have seen the souls
df those believers as God saw them, how bitterly might
she have wept over her own ! She would have poured
out her heart in anguish unto Him whom Israel had
j|icrced^and mourned as never spirit had mourned be-
fore. She would have seen the bolt of vengeance
over her own head, while He whom she denied in pity
still hfiyi back the wrath of God from her young heart,
pleadmg evej|in her behalf: * Father, forgive them,
for they know no^ what they do !' But the scales were
not yet removed from her eyes, so that her light was

42 MIRIAM.

darki^ess, and her fancied^rock of peace was not, alas ! .
the rock of strength and of salvation. She stood for a
few moments on the mount she had now ascended,
whence the peaceful cottage of Margaret Stuart was
distinctly seen, as it lay embedded in the woody glen.
It was one of those sultry days of June which some-
times throw a languor over the heart, scarcely to be •
defined, although it feeds reflection, and softens human
nature to feelings of melancholy sympathy for all man-
kind. Not a noise was heard to disturb the quietness
in which the valley seemed to rest, save now and then
the shepherd's whistle answering the distant bleatings
of his flock, the hum of bees, and the soft gurgling of
the rill, as it fell from its cold spring to seek a wider
channel in the brook beneath. The window of Jessie's
room was open, but the white curtains so closely drawn
told that sickness was its tenant. Little did Miriam
know how earnestly were they engaged, who now knelt
beneath that lowly roof Mrs. Stuart had withdrawn
to her own room, to pour out her grief to the Savior,
whom she well knew had pity and power to bind the
broken heart. Jessie was asleep, and by her side the
gentle Helen knelt, whose tears betrayed how deeply
was her heart concerned, as she asked that God would
have mercy upon poor Miriam's soul, and teach her the
things which belonged to her peace, ere that time had
passed away in which salvation was proclaimed to every
believer in Christ — the alone Redeemer of mankind !
* Make her even as this simple child,' said Helen fer*
vently, ' and give her such faith as shall remove the
dark mountain of unbelief, and release her from the
dreadful bonds of heresy. O may the gracious Shep-
herd of Israel reclaim her to his fold, and make her
indeed a glad daughter of Zion, that his^ power may
be made manifest, and his kingdom established even
where the tree has withered and the soil laid barren,
beneath the bitter curse of Judah's guilt ; and as from
the mouths of babes wisdom has been ordained, so may

MlRIAItr. 43

we evon in our weakness be made as strong instruments
in thy hands to show the glad tidings of salvation to
her who never yet has known them ; so shall this
visitation of sickness be remembered as a blessing, and
the affliction which has made the hearts of thy servants
sorrowful, be sanctified to good, if it but lead to thy
purposes of mercy and redemption ! '

Helen again arose, and as she looked on the flushed
cheek of the sleeping suflerer, she felt that when that
sweet link was gone, the chain of this world's joy
would be for ever broken, so fondly had the heart of
that little one bound itself to hers. But she felt too
that all things were wisely done, and resigned her will
to God, assured that Jesus Christ was there to triumph
over death and sorrow.

Miriam had now leflthe glen, for she dared not yield
to the feelings which oppressed her. She already lov-
ed the Stuarts, for although she hated Christianity as a
name, she had not yet learnt to cherish that indiscrimi-
nate hatred with which a more experienced Jew would
look on every Christian, however good or virtuous or
gentle they might individually be. So while she could
not curse beings whose welfare seemed so interesting
to her, Miriam almost wished that she might pray for
the mitigation of that sorrow, in which her own neart
now so truly sorrowed. She thought not of danger, for
she believed her faith too firm to be endangered, but
she resolved strenuously to avoid all subjects of con-
troversy with them, and to love them with the pity of
a conipassionate heart. She therefore rallied herself
from her present dejection, and resuming her usual ^
cheerfulness, she again walked onward, and soon
reached the bank, where Isaac waited with the boat to
conduct her back to Fernhill.

Mrs. Stuart had not always been the humble cottager
which she now called herself. Scotland was her native
country, and there had she been brought up in all the
indulgence of an only child. Her parents, however,

44 MIRIAM^

lo.ved her too well to spoil the natural sweetness of her
disposition by any of that felse kindness too frequently
bestowed where in one alooe is centered the feelings of
parental love. Margaret had early been taught the
value of religion, and while God was made the supreme
object of her heart, every other tie of duty dnd affec-
tion, governed by that one leading principle, was thus
thrown into the same calm channel of pure and unso-
phisticated virtue ; so that she grew up, not only a
blessing to her parents, but the delight of all who knew
her, and an example to^such as were less amiable than
herself. She was so sprightly and so fair, that she was
called the ' bonniest lassie of the brae,' and Walter
Stuart claimed her as his bride while yet the rose of
joy;, played lightly on her young cheek. He was the
minister's son, and although scanty is the inheritance
of a highland kirk, it was deemed- enough for the
daughter of Gordon Campbell ; for as ambition had
not yet taught that riches must buy the heart, so Gordon
smiled upon the son of his friend, and blessed him, as
he asked the boon so dear on the sole plea of early and
long tried love. His virtue was equal to her own, and
as Margaret had lands enough for both, it was little
heeded that in wealth he was but ill proportioned to
herself Years glided on, and the grave received those
ibnd parents who were loved so dearly; and Walter
prayed for himself and his people in the same little kirk
whjence the prayers of his father had so long and so
often ascended. But time brought its calamities, al-
tho^igh the blessing of heaven still shed their dews
"^Dund the dwelling of the young minister. The value
^r property decreased, and Margaret had littl^ left for
i.ie^claims of an increasing family, so that her cheek
beeame more pale, though sorrow softened rather than
subdued those sweet smiles which still won every heart
that saw them ; and Walter looked less gladly, though
as calmly upon life, as many an anxious care arose
over the future destinies of those whom be$t he loved:

3f IRIAM. ' 45

for althoug^h Waltet and 4iis wife could look back on
younger and mote sunny da^^s, and felt that the cold
hand of time h^d nipped many a bud of joy, they loved
as well to look up and see the rainbow df Almighty
love which beamed on every cloud, the bright covenant'
of that gracious promise, * I will never leave theu nor
forsake ttfee,' and then they would only ask for hearts
mor^ sanctified to receive the Redeemer's love, and'
for faith more clear to see thfe hidden mysteries of
God's unerring wisdom in the distribirtion of good and
evil. Thus it was that they could so patiently await,
in undoubting hope, for joys above the transient plea-
sures of this decaying world I

But Margaret was reserved for duties of a keener
trial. Consumption, with its slow and hidden poison,
fed on the cheek of Walter, thougii its hectic blooto
deceived, until riie hsmd of death itself had marked the
young victim oi its power. To his soul it came not
as an untimely messeifiger, for it only summoned the
righteous to an early immortality ; but to her wliom it
widowed, it was the harbinger of agony, such as she
had never known before. She 'had followed parents
and children to the grave, and many a tear had fallen
on the green sod which covered them, but this was the
first x>f sorrow which Walter had not shared, and her^
lone heart vhad well nigh broken, had she not in the^
helplessness of her grief sought pity and support from
Him', to whom the widow never knelt in vain ! She
prayed for strength, and she rose strengthened. She
asked for grace to drink that bitter cup which might
not pass away, and as she drank, God sanctified tht
draught, and bade it heal the heart which He, hat
stricken ; so that the mpurning sufferer was restored d»
p^ce, and smiles as sweet, though now less glad, re-
sumed their wonted power over her gentle eountenahce.
Many were the tears which fell when Walter's death
was known, for few were loved as he had been ; and
every heart pitied the widow of the manse, as, on the

46 MIRIAM.

first Sabbath evening, she huhrried from the kirk, heed-
less now of waiting to be last, since he for whom she
had ever fondly lingered could walk home side by side
with her no more ! She passed his grave, but knew
that the spirit which she loved had risen far beyond
that narrow sphere, so she checked the rising sob, and
having now overstepped the worst of trials, she raised
her tearful eyes to heaven, and praised God for all his
mercies to her sainted Walter ; then, taking the hand
of her little boy, *with that which had ever before rest-
ed on his father's arm, she silently hastened onward to
her cheerless home. It was a mournful sight to see
the widow and her children so early clad in the weeds
of bereavement ; but all who saw it lingered back,
that none might cross her path, for sorrow such as hers,
and yet so nobly borne, was too sacred to be disturbed
by untimely sympathy. Time passed swiftly on, and
anothejr minister tenanted the manse. He was a good
old man, and death having left hiin childless, he took
the widow's son and reared him as his own, that the
kirk might not pass to a less worthy s^eneration; and
as Walter had been dearly loved, so all looked gladly
•on his child, and loved the grey-haiied tnan for his
kindness to the sweet bairn. For his sake it was
that Douglas Graham accepted the office, for which he
thought time had almost unfitted him ; but with a new
incitement all the energy of renewed strength returned,
and the venerable preacher, clad in the breast- plate of
faith, came forth once more to • fight the good fight '
of his Redeemer's cause. In the benevolence of his
heart he wished that Margaret would still make the
manse her home ; but it was too much asociated with
all that had been dearest to hej^ and now too sadly
changed to be longer one of happiness ; and although
to trace, in all that met her eye, remembrances of her
departed husband was a melancholy delight to her, it
was one in which sh^ fek she dared not now indulge.
An in&nt and two elder girls claimed her undivided

MIRIAM. 47

care, and she roused from the listlessness of grief as
she thought of these sweet pledges, and resolved in the
duties of a mother to find that peace such as this world
could wo longer offer. For their advantage, therefore,
she decided on leaving Scotland, to ^ttle at Glencairn
where she inherited some small possessions from her
mother, and leaving her youn^ Gordon to follow his
father's footsteps, under the pious guardianship of the
good old minister, sh6 hade farewell to the sweet manse
of bocnock hrae, which had been the birth-place of all
her children and her joys.

The jdigion which had thus taught Margaret meek-
ly to suffer the will of God, now enabled her cheerfully
to fulfil the duties to which she* was appointed. Dark
had been the night which closed her day of earthly hap-
piness, l|ut it had led her to look up and seek that * bright
and looming stat, under whose guidance only can be
found the narrow path to Zion. Tim«> had realised in
her widowed heart the peace of God's unfailing pro-
mises, and she could now look on the storm which had
driven her to the bosom of her Savior, and with a grate-
ful heart acknowledge his oihnipotence.to save — his om-
niscience to direct ; for she knew that had she guided
the helm of her own destiny, this world's wave had ov-
erwhelmed her, and she would not thus have found the
haven of heavenly rest ; so she looked not back with ^
repining restlessness, nor onward with presumptuous
anxiety, but casting all her fears at the foot of the cross,
she morning and evening renewed her praise to heav-
en, satisfied that in the daily return of blessings she
was but receiving the earnest of future blessdness, or
in each care but renewed sureties of her Savior's
watchful love. She had, however, met with few vicis-
situdes to checker her abode at Glencairn, and many
temporal mercies gladdened her humble dwelling. Of
Gordon she often heard, and always with tidings such
as filled her*soul with gratitude, for Douglas Graham
fcad called him a second Walter, and said that he was

48 MIRIAM.

scarcely less beloved by the people* of Dornock brae#
Helen, tooy now in her twentieth year, was all a moth-
er's heart could wish, and but for one, Margaret might
have ownedherself singularly blessed in all her chil-
dren. But inany a pang was silently endured, as she
thought what the future destiny might be of a gitl,
beautiful and affectiona^, wild and wayward, as this
one was, oiirev whom. she could breathe a sigh of regret.
Edith was not now at home, ahhough her mother of-
ten wished she had never suffered her to leave it ; but
she had done it for the best believing that a few years'
experience of the world might tend, not only to enlarge
her mindi but convince her that happiness was not al-
ways the attendant of pleasures such as she sighed for,
nor pleasure essential to happiness, if the heart were
rightly attuned to receive it from its own pure, source.
Thus had Mrs. Stuart been tempted to consign her to
the charge of Lady Beauford, who, during a visit to
the former residents of Fernhill, struck with the beau-
tj^ and vivacity of little Edith, had become extremely
fond of her, and some time afterwards had offered to
receive her in her own family, to share the pursuits
and education of Lucy, her only child, for whom a
companion was deemed desirable. So many advanta-
ges appear combined in this proposal, that Mrs^ Stuart
scarcely knew how far she might be justified in decli-
ning it, and further urged by the friendless situation in
which her children might hereafter stand, when left de-
pendent upon their own exertions, she was induced to
acquiesce, and to conquer all those parental misgivings
at heart, which perhaps ever assail a mother in parting
from an inexperienced child. She candidly avowed to
Lady Beauford the disposition of Edith; but under the
control of strangers, atid the discipline of a school-room,
it was generally hoped that she would become a differ-
ent girl, and probably far more tractable than she had
hitherto been with her own! .:fejnily, in a retirement
which had limited her views x>f life to the mere ideal

(

HIRUX. 49

world of a vivid and ill-judging imagination, and tlrat
liad created so great a dislike to the straiffht-forwardt

Juiet, Christian pursuits of her own village home,
tut Lady Beauford assured Mrs. Stuart that she would
carefully watch over the morals and temper of her
charge, and as she declared herself verv strict in many
religious duties, the mother was reconciled in believing
that religion would npt be neglected in the midst of
worldly advantages.

To Edith, life now seemed as one unfading wreath
of pleasure ; for in the promise of living in London
with the femily of a rich baronet, she surely thought
she had attained all that her young heart had longed
for. She loved her mother, she loved Helen, and Uttle
Jessie had been her favorite plaything ; but to her,
their pursuits, their enjoyments were irksome and unin-
teresting, and she felt tnat she could leave them all,
though never to forget them. She was one day expa-
tiating to Helen on all her anticipated delights of Lon-
don gaieties, when her sister warned her against in-
dulging in visions such as life might never realise^
* For depend upon it, said she, ^ the pleasure that the
gay world is said to afiord, is oflen dearly bought at
the very time of its enjoyment, and that no happiness is
so^sure, so lasting, as that found in the calm duties of a
christian's life.'

* Ah, well!' replied Edith, * every one have their
different tastes, and should be left at liberty to follow
what best pleases them. To me, there is no pleasure
in always thinking of death and heaven, in reading the
Bible and teaching the dirty children a few texts and
catechisms 1 Now, Helen, you like all this, but there
can be no harm in liking any thing else a great deal
better or in being happy at the thoughts of leaving a
stupid village for a gay town.'

* But is there no dangcTi exclaimed Helen, * in fol-
lowing a shadow and|(dldng the substance? Dearest
Edith, it grieves me to fiheo heart to see you opposed to

50 MIRIAM.

every thing that is rational, and to know how distant
from each other we must walk through life ; for I dare
not turn aside from the only path to which my Saviour
leads me, and why will you^ Edith, leave- his sacred
fold, where you might be so happy both here and
hereafter ! '

*0,' answered Edith, carelessly, *I do not think
that God loves us the more for being melancholy, nor
less because we like gay people and gay things when-
ever we can meet them. He is too merciful to give us
enjoyments, and then punish us if we love and taste
them.'

* Beware, Edith,' said Helen, ' how yon dare to
impugn the noblest attribute of God, by lightly and
irreverently charging himi with folly ! He has indeed
given us every enjoyment, and bids us drink of them
freely ; nor is it because we choose to misname his
gifts, and t9 call that irksome which is happiness, or
that happiness which is too often but a curse, . that we
ean throw upon God the inconsistency which is only in
ourselves. The Bible is our chart, and if wefoUowits
pAsiSepts and its warnings, we shall surely find joy in
Christ and happiness in heaven ! But if we presume
to mark out our own destiny, and go the road we are
commanded to shun, where will be the injustice of our
punishment % No, Edith, God is truth, and too holy to
swerve one letter from his word ; then trust to no hopes
but those which He for our comfort has revealed.'

* Ah ! well,' replied Edith, impatiently, * when I am
old then I will read the Bible and be quite a saint !
but don't let us talk so seriously any more, for we need
not quarrel though we do not think alike.' Then,
throwing her arms aftectionately round her sister, shis
added, ' Dear Helen, you are so good and gentle that I
shall always love you, and very often wish for voh
when you are no longer netv^fi^ ; but I never ^idTi. uke

' religion as you do, it is so vefi|'tediou9f and makes m«^

!*.

HiRiAitr. 5i

feel «a sleepy ; but you need not hate me', Helen, be^
cause I cannot understaBd your feelings ! '

* Hate you ! ' exclaimed Helen, with a deep sigh,
' how gladly would 1 die, could my death but lead yoa
to him whose love for you only can exceed my own !
/hate you, Edith I have we not grown together — lived
together — learnt together — slept on the same pillow
since we were both infants ? And when you go awdy,
where shall I find a companion 9o near to me in age
and heart as you have been ? Oh ! why then should
our hopes be separate, and these too so awfully divide
us ? For how can we wish to meet again- ift heaven,
if we both love not those pure joys which m heaven
must unite us ? And where, Edith, but there can we
meet, to part no more ? '

Edith was an affectionate girl, and touched by the
tender solicitude of Helen^ now sobbed upon her bosom.
But it was ever thus such arguments would end, and
vainly did Helen reaean> and entreat on> a subject in
which alone, perhaps, the sisters never yet had met ;
for transient weve the promises of amendment wrung'
from the mere feeling of momentary contrition, so sooh
did Edith rescime her tevity, and fofgel the pain by
which ii had for a moment been> disturbedv

Time hastened on, and at the expiration of a few
weeks^ Edith left the sweet home of hev childhood, and
ah 1 as she has since said, the scene of all her happi-
est days ! but pleasure beckoned her away, and tears
only foil when her mother fondly blessed her, and the
pale, silent Helen, pressed her to her bosom. But not
€0 transieni weve the feelings of those who saw ber
go, although few words were suffored to express tbem.
Helen, indeed, stood at the little gate with Jessie by
her mde, till Edith couM be seen no more; then^ stoop-
ing down to krss' the tear9 which stood on Jessie's
ebsek, she checked l|ii^%wn, and throwing her arm
«rofind the child both i^ned silently to the homid/'
ft was near tke hour of 4eat and Mrs. Stuart, to begoilt v

52 MIRIilV.

the time, was busily preparing the meal. The usual
number of cups had been set upon the table, and with
a sigh the widow took one off again, and placed it on
a higher shelf of the cupboard. The tea was made,
but little food was eaten, and there was a silence in
every room, in every heart, which alone told that some*
thing now was wanting which" never had before been
missed. The linnet faintly twittered in its cage, Helen
arose and fed the little prisoner. It was Edith's bird,
and thus had she been ever wont to give his evening
meal. Jessie watered Edith's flowers, and the mother
taking some books which Edith had left in her charge,
wrapt them in silver paper, and placed them where no
injijry could reach them. Thus was the absent ane in
every heart, and yet scarcely had her name been spo-
ken. At length little Jessie, weary of being spiritless,
asked to go to bed. Their only servant was called in,
and the pious family assembled to close the day with
thanksgivings unto Him from whom the blessings of
that day had been received. The mother's voice at first
was weak, and expressed a heart subdued; but it
strengthened as the Spirit of Him to whom she prayed,
gave utterance to her soul; for 'two or three' had
* gathered together ' in his name, and in the midst of
them there had his promised presence descended. So,
in peace they again arose, and in love they parted for
the night. •

How dreary was now to Helen the room where, for
the first time, she was to sleep alone ! It seemed as if
it were half unfurnished, and yet but one trunk had
been removed. It was still strewed with all the usual
litter of packing up. Drawers stood half open, but
alas ! they were empty, and Helen resolved that on the
morrow she would have them filled. Ever3rthing bore
marks of past confusion, but now all bustle had ceased,
and not a sound was heard to break the silence of that
cold and joyless scene. Ah ! is there one who never
yet has known the first desolateness of a young heart.

MIRIAM. 53

bereaved of its earliest tie, the companion of its every
thought, its every wish 7 Who then but can under-
^nd the feelings with which Helen sat down, and in
her loneliness re-called each scene of childhood where
Edith had been dearest 1 The walks, the songs, the
flowers which they had shared together, all, all re-
turned ! In every joy, in every playful hour which
time had buried, Edith was remembered, her faults
alone were now forgotten !

It is in trials such as these, that the christian's soul
may sink and be reduced to all the weakness of sor-
row, such as religion, it is sometimes said, should nei-
ther know nor feel. But religion cherishes rather than
forbids the tenderness of nature ; and though it heals
and sanctifies, it cannot exempt^the human heart from
human sufferings, nor does it always avert its frailties,
though it has power to cleanse and to subdue them.
So Helen sobbed as bitterly as if the source of heaven-
ly peace were closed against her, and for a moment she
had well nigh forgotten the joy which * cometh in the
morning ; ' but soon the waters passed away that over-
whelmed her soul, the dove returned, and she remem-
bered the covenant with God, that 'as thy day, so shall
thy strength be,' and she sought that strength whence
alone she knew it never failed. The moonbeams faint-
ly fell upon her bed, as by its side she knelt, and seem-
ed in their pure and radiant light to bear some mission
of peace, in earnest of future glory to the young, be-
lieving, lowly Christian, who asked to love her Savior
more singly, and all else more subserviently, that earth
might * twine no more about her heart,' nor earthly
cares divide her from her God !

It was a lovely night, and tempted to linger for a
while, Helen softly opened her little casement window
to think once more of Edith, for often had they stood
there side by side, to wat6H the moon, as it slowly sail-
ed along, or^quickly seemed to roll over the high arch
of heaven. The evetdtg mists were lightly falling,

* ■»

54 MIRIAM.

and hung^ in flittering drops on the rose leaves which
embowered Helen's room, and the new-made hay scat-
tered in the fields around, lent its sweet fragrance to
the dewy air. Every leaf w^as still, so gently did the
breeze pass by ; and while all nature seemed to sleep,
the pensive nightingale alone raised her sad song to
wake the melody with which her deep and tender note
filled every neighboring wood. The moon in partial
rays silvered each sloping hill, and threw into deeper
shade the dark perspective of the distant cliffs ; while
nearer rose the little peaceful church, whose rustic walls
were novv' dimly seen between the branching elms
which sheltered them.

Such sounds, such scenes, were no novelty to Helen,
but ever was her heart peculiarly susceptible to the
harmony of nature, and the awakening majesty of crea-
tion. She loved to contemplate the works of her Cre-
ator, whether in the mighty scheme of man's redemp-
tion, or in the varied wonders of His universe. But
never was her soul more raised above the world than
now, as she gazed on the scenery before her. * Oh ! '
thought she, * if God for sinful man creates a world
like this, what must be the throne of Jesus' glory I or
the dwelling place of his redeemed ? ' Again she
thought of Edith, and guessed that even now she might
be travelling. * God grant,' exclaimed the affectionate
girl, * that she may be journeying heavenward, that we
may meet again at Zion's gate, and both find an advo-
cate in Christ to plead our entrance there! ' Her eyes
were full of tears, and she dared no longer think of
Edith, for sadder thoughts than these returned, and fain
would she forget them. She closed the window, retir-
ed to rest, and soon slept sweetly, for the peace of God
was over her I

The next morning the little family again assembled,
and all their wonted cheerfulness returned. Jessie was
playful as ever, Helen as l:)!^|^^nd Mrs. Stuart as calm-
ly resigned. Edith was^pft^SSpoken of, but tears no

^ ■>

•Jk

MIRIAM. 55

longer followed her name. Her bird was fed, her flow-
ers watered, but the task was not now painful ; the part-
ing hour had passed, she was happy, and every regret
yielded to the fond wish that she might ever be so.

Thus had Edith left her mother at the age of fifteen,
to be the companion of a spoilt but amiable and warm-
hearted girl, a twelve-month younger than herself.
She had once since then returned, and appeared in
many respects an improved character ; but Mrs. Stuart
still saw, that in the most essential principles she had
gained but little progress. Pride, vanity, and a love of
dress and pleasure, were still the predominant errors of
her mind. She was, however, happy, in her sitiiation,
and was loved by her benefactress, so that all seemed
well, and she again left her mother and Glencairn.
But often would Mrs. Stuart question how sisters of
the same parents, modelled on the same principles of
education, could be so , opposite as Helen and Edith
had ever been ? The one so gentle, steady, and re-
tiring; the other so vaip, high-spirit, and self-willed.
Helen ever shrank from observation, Edith as eagerly
sought it. Helen, indeed, possessed no talents to at-
tract, but her mind was strong and perceptive, her
judgment clear, and her principles decided. Her feel-
ings were susceptible, and perhaps too quick, but
they were so well controlled, that they seldom betrayed
her to weakness, and only those who understood her,
could perhaps know how keenly she sympathised in
all that could pain another. She had few personal at-
tractions, and early accustomed to hear herself called a
* plain girl,' she had sought for treasures of more in-
trinsic value, so that, heedless of the rest, she was now
unconscious of the sweetness which threw over her
countenance that best of beauty — the soft expression of
a pure and pious heart. Edith was fair and beautiful ;
80 fair, that all who saw her, turned again to smile on
beauty so attractive ! BttLalas ! Edith loved not God,
Aiui vain were the ^^^f her mother to raise the
MCBds of righteousneai^'fi^eart where God was not.

H ^sk.i

56 MIRIAM.

Who that reads human nature with a mind unpreju-
diced by pride, can deny its inherent love of sin, its
enmity to holiness ? *The heart is deceitful above all
things and desperately wicked, who can know it?'
Then *why boastest thou thyself, O mighty man?
'There is none righteous, no not one;' where then
can be found that innocence of heart, of which man so
vainly boasts ? O how fatal will be the delusion of
such as will claim no other plea to enter heaven, than
that of a self-righteous soul ! No, the grace of God
is alone able to work in us * both to will and to do of
his good pleasure,' and those who presumptuously re-
ject his guidance, in fancied security of their own
strength, will be left to stumble on the * dark mountain,'
whence no road to heaven can be found ; and must final-
ly lose the prize of our high calling, offered to all who
will ' fight the good fight of faith,' armed only with the
shield of Jesus' power ' Our good Shepherd holds
forth His arm of strength to lead each wanderer to the
fold of Zion, but if rejecting this we go astray and will
not listen to his sacred call — ah ! who can save us from
the lion, and snatch us from the jaws of death ? We
have a chart, on which the gracious hand of God has,
with a foresight and faithfulness too wonderful tjo be
conceived, marked every quicksand, gulf, and rock
which can betray the soul to ruin; and with an equal
mercy has there fixed the * eternal word,' that every
eye may behold and follow the • light, the life, the res-
urrection ! ' We must not think that education is
. Cnristianity, or Christianity the mere knowledge of
spiritual things. A learned divine may be an infidel,
an ignorant peasant may be a child of God. The
heart is the test by which we shall be weighed. It
must ascend to heaven with the pure flame, of faith,
borne on the wings of humble, unassuming hope ! Its
credentials must be Jesus Christ, its desire his glory,
its only plea his merits ! TIjjs is the work oif God
alone, and in this the hand of man can bear no part ;

MIRIAM. 57

and althoagh parents and guardians will indeed stand
awfully responsible for the education of those with
whom God has entrusted them, they will be acx;ounta-
ble only for the care with which they were cultivated,
and not for the fruits which they shall bear. They
must be trained heavenward, moulded on the gospel,
nourished by the religion of Christ, and sheltered by
the example of piety. But if with all this care thorns
spring up instead of fruit, and weeds where flowers
were planted, then at the great harvest of mankind the
laborer shall be free, but the unprofitable tree be with-
ered, and bear no part in paradise. So will it be with
parents and children, masters and servants, ministers,
and people. Each must give an account of his own
stewardship, and according to faithfulness in that
which they have received, shall every one be finally re-
warded.

CHAPTER IV.

The visits of Miriam to the glen became so frequent
as to excite the most painful anxiety in the mind of her
tutor. Imlah had of late been too much engrossed by
affairs of a public nature, to heed the prophetic fore-
bodings, with which Mendez continually endeavored
to arrest his attention to the alarming progress of Mi-
riam's intimacy with IJj^len Stuart, which the Rabbin
eansidered as nothing, short of heathenish apottacy.

58 MIRIAM.

But mortified- by this determined opposition to his pa-
rental lenity, and vexed that his child should be so
mistrusted, Imlah grew deaf to all remonstrances, and
^t length only the more resolutely forbade all interfe-
rence where her pleasure was concerned. He was
indeed become so much accustomed to see her seek
enjoyment beyond her home, that he ceased to fear evil
consequences from an intercourse, in which he thought
none now could arise, ahhough he would probably have
felt less secure had not a new scene of ambition di-
verted his mind from the present to the future welfere
of his daughter, whose career of. glory he fondly hoped
was even now beginning to dawn. Private intelligence
had reached him relative to a secret mission from
Palestine to the principal rabbis in Germany, which
promised an early restoration of their rights in that
country, if forwarded by the combined assistance of
such as were most in power amongst the German
rulers, and Imlah was now entreated to return and>aid
the advancement of so glorious a cause. Delighted
wth this revival of confidence, poor Imlah thought
only of his country, and the certain restoration which
this reunion of power would insure to Israel ; nor will
we venture even to sketch the mighty visions which his
imagination now wrought of the new Jerusalem at
hand, Messiah's conquest, and the total overthrow of
all apostacy ; neither will we stop to count the hours
which Imlah paced his room, while realising to himself
the glorious triumphs which he was about perhaps to
aid and share. It was in one of these reveries that he
was startled by the unusual intrusion of Mendez, who,
in the full dress of his sacred office, as if to add to the
supposed importance of his mission, slightly apologised
for this interruption, and demanded a few moments at-
tention to a subject of too serious an import to be de-
layed. Imlah, who only now thought of his child,
hastily enquired if any evil had befallen her 7

' Not of bodily injury,' suUwly murmured the Rah-

MIRIAM. 59

bin, as if he thought that were a very secondary appre-
hension ; * but her soul is seared with the iron of infi-
delity, and what but a miracle can heal the deadly
wound which your own obstinacy has left to canker? *
Here he turned pale, and casting a reproachful look on
Imlah, threw aside the sleeve of his robe, whose folds
concealed his talismanic warning, pointing significantly
to the phylactery, on which was written in letters of
gold, * Sanctify unto me all the first-born of Israel'

* Speak 1 ' exclaimed Imlah with ah angry frown,
irritated by the reproctf which this action so dubiously
conveyed, 'speak not in these dark conjectures, which,
by all that is sacred, I will not bear; buttell me plainly
upon what grounds you dare allege so foul a charge
against the daughter of Imlah Durvan ? '

* May the spirits of our fathers descend and calm the
anger of your soul, my son/ solemnly replied the Rab-
bin, * and defend us from the dangers of these dark
times ! But had you, Imlah, earlier trusted to my
conjectures, I had not now to mar your peace by this jM
fearful truth, that Miriam has received from the ac- 7
cursed hands of the apostate Helen — a Christian's
Bible ! '

- * I ask you again,' exclaimed the astonished Imlah
in breathless agitation, but still resolved to be incredu-
lous, * upon what evidence you dare allege this charge ? '

* Upon the evidence of my own sight,' said Men-
dez, *^as within this hour I .walked on Roland's cliff,
wh#re Miriam passed me with her friend, and received
the book as a parting token from the young heretic :'
th€n, after a pause, as if he would fain have been with-
out this emollient to offer, he added, * but I must own
it was accepted with a promise not to open it without
your consent. I have therefore hastened to warn you
of the request, that you may for once be prepared to
sacrifice your weak indulgence to the saving of that
poor girl's soul, since I find that my con^nt and my
advice are now quite unnecessary to Miss iSlrvan.'

iSk.

60 MlRlilM.

* Meddling dotard,* whispered Imlah to himself, a»
now relieved he wiped the drops of agony which his
feelings had wrought upon his brow; then turning to
the Rabbin, he replied : * You might well have spared
me this anguish, Mendez, until quite convinced tnat it
was necessary to inflict it. I was sure that Miriam
could not so abuse* my confidence as to enjoy it to our
mutual ruin. But all is well, for doubtless she will
avow to both of us the circumstances which have in-
duced her to receive a Christian's Bible, if indeed the
book you saw were one, and this is all I could require
of her.'

Mendez, who had before dreaded the effects of
tidings which he considered* so terrific, now looked
upon the apparent indifference of his patron with min-
gled surprise and contempt, while again inclosing his
meagre person in his long robe, he exclaimed, * Fond
and sanguine fool ! whose soul can feed upon such
fatal, such absurd sophistry, rather then mar the way-
ward fancies of a spoiled and self-willed child ! ' Then
meekly folding his arms across his breast, as if he would
fain have quelled the angry passion which labored
within, he earnestly ejaculated, * O Lord God of our
fathers ! the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and
the God of Jacob, awake, and graciously remember
the covenant which thou swearest unto thy people
Israel ! Renew our days in this long captivity ! Re-
member thy children in a land not their own, nor suffer
aliens to approach them to their hurt ! O shield the
remnant of thy chosen from heresy, and save, especial-
ly, this hapless daughter of our race, now in the time of
danger and great tribulation. O Lord ! hasten thou the
coming of our long-expected Deliverer! '

*Amen!' fervently exclaimed Imlah; 'and now,
Mendez, sit down an3 listen patiently, while I open my
heart to you without reserve, on a subject in which I
hope to meet your counsel and assistance. You have
thought me negligent in our sacred cause, but little did

MIRUM. 61

you knDTV^how it has of late absorbed my ev^ry thought,
While night and day I have labored to restore its falleD
power. You are now old, my friend, and require rest
from these anxious toils which well nigh break the
heart of those who bear theiQ, else would I not thus
haye left you ignorant of the mighty scheme which ia
about to waken Israel from her slumbers, and call her
sons to glory. But i^w I fear no failure, then read
these documents, and let their hidden imporjt be sacredly
conned to your own bosom, for remember on secresy
depends the final success of our purpose/
> Miriam's apostacy and the Bible were now forgotten,
wUie the poor old Rabbin, with a countenance sud-
i^e^ changed from sullen sorrow to glad surprise, took
wit&^ trembling h^nds the packet which Imlah laid
heit^e him, and naving attentively perused the most
ixMortant of its papers, exclaimed, clasping his hands
witagra^f^ljoy, HMoses and the pfoplfi|ts be blessed
and'praised ! But Imlah, my son, why are ye idle here,.
wUlb Israel demands thy wealths and time, apd all thou
n, hast ? Will y^e not go to Hanover, add unite with the
holy conclave nOw assembled in the righteoua cause of
Judah ? And then,' added he, with a smile of triumph,
as he suddenly recollected his morning's terror, * our
beauteous daughter will be safe from the jaws of this
accursed host of infidels, which, like the great Levia-
than, is lui;king to destroy her spotless soul'

' Aye,' repUed Imlah, mournfully, recalling his
youthful ardor, * but bitter experience has taught me,
my good Rabbin, to follow prudence not impulse, and
to prefer the dictates of a cool judgment, rather than
the mad enthusiasm of an impetuous mind. Our great
and learned Rabbi, Menasseh Ben-Israel, is my present
adviser, and he reasons well on the necessity of
my remaining here until my personal presence is
required in Germany, lest my return should excite
suspicion, and awaken the vigilance* of the ecclesias-
tical government. In the mean time he has my free

MIRIAM.

-'i^

permission ^to claim from me whatever siHn% of money
he may stand in need of) which at present is prinet-
pally required for the expenses, and injuring the
fidelity of emissaries necessarily emplpyed between
our parties in Palestine , and Germany^ Respecting
Micjam, she is already the affianced bride of the young
Aben Ezra, a powerful ally, and only son of Menassek
Ben-Itrael ; an alliance to which I have now pledged
my faith, ai[|d thus,' added he, rising from his seat
with an air of dignified triumph, as if he already saw
the crown of glory upon his daughter's head, * will be
at length united the only scionl of the illustrious
David which fre can trace amidst tl|e scattered t^^^bes
of oik race. Bui bere, IVlendsz, w^ ask your assis^

te and patient toil. I^ estaolishing our cla^^ it
1 be desirable, nay, absolutely ^ss^tial, that^ we
;?hould be enabled to coUect proofs of our desce^—
^ a point Mihicb the jj^^ligence of out ancient r^erd las
^Lat present left dubioPtts, and which lib gi#fen so great
^n advantage to the Gentiles against us, in makiii^ it
appear that th^roan Christ wasihe last of David's- line,^'
whose genealogy caiLbe traced* an%ssertion which it
now behoves us to refute, riti only for the overthrow
of calumny and imposture, but to establish the ciedit
oL^oar own Messiah, whose reign is doubtless now at
hind. To you then, Mendez, we now consign these
papers,' pointing to an enormon** pile of parchment
scrolls, * wi^ich have been iately collected by Menas-
seh, fqjr the pirrpose of drawing out a clear and correct
genealogy of .our deseent, not doubting but that youtr
presevering zeal and patient labor will surmount the
difiiculties of so arducms an undertaking.'

The Rabbin »hook his head, and timidly acquiesced.
This was indeed a task, the difficulties of which he too
well knew to promise or even hope for success ; for in
in his, youthful zeal he had oflen secretly attempted the! [
herculanean labor, but had never yet besn able to coni
uect the bvauches of tliis brolEeatree, dnd. it still re4'

■v

./*

' XL- ^^

*■ *

MIlitAlll 63

mained an anomaly to him, which required the very
faith of an Abraham to overcome, while still he would
not doubt the possibility of restorhig so important a
document. ' I will do my best,' said he, scarcely
ventiyring to look upon the aippallingf heap. *But
what do you intend to do respecting Miriam? ' added
he, anxious to change the current of hia thoughts;
* would it not be advisable for me at |q9ice - to convey
her to Hanover, and thejfe await your aWval ? '

• We must proceed more patiently, my jgood Men-
dez,' replied Imiah, smiling ; * but I ihwk you need
noilr fdar nothing ^ij^e safety of her souL She must,^
however at p]^n.|Jpnow pothing^ df iber intended
destiny, alth^|K^^|^'' a hw months^ i^, >weeks
only, will 6]|raPMp|r6"its final accompljj^ment. ,^ \p
the Bieaxi tiflie|^^p|| must, tqniusual, be^ im at perfect
lib<»:tyto ceto^ifl^^er inifacourse witn the Cbfistiatfr*
Stuart% nor shftll|l ^^^S^ Restrict het even on 4he
subjem of their^ religion, Jfojp siieinusffck know, befere
'«h|Nfjan refute thefii/fdliy,%i4jt^ Mehdez, she will<
\,4{>ro^bly sfiaiid^as the amfk^sadress of a cause, in
whi$h I'iiope the will proVe hesself eoiopetent an^
worthy.' j> >

Imlah had urow completely wroufflvt liimself to a d^e-

kision, in wmch everv>ambitiotts ^me, every aitxiou»

wish^ which he had K)ster«d^ from chil^hodd until now,.

seemed already realised, and he rould eiily see in

Miriam the. mother •£ Messiah, anil in himself the

avenging hero of hia cause. Mendez, too,< excited by

these renewed hopes- of freedom, was scarcely less

deceived. Time seemed within, that hovr to have

snatched a score of yeats from his venerable. features,

and his countenfince brightened with the importance

^ 80 glad a secret ; be was about to leave tne room

V. which he had entered with such difllerent feelings, such

^'>;di^reBt forebodings f but Imlah detained him, remind-

f\]mg him of his injunctions to secresy. * And lemen*-

' ^^l«v^ added he, *that IjUciam. must know nothings

'"■^".

» «

M'':-:^ ■-,

v.- •

64 MIRIAM.

beyond the probability of our return to Germany, of
whi9h I shall myself immediately inform her ; but of
Aben Ezra I shall say nothing, lest in the wayward*
ness of woman^s will, she should be tempted to nega-
tire our proposal. We shall have time enough for
this when other things are done»' So saying, he gave
his hand to the rabbin in token of renewed amity, and
they parted lilfe* faithful ^allies, ^ch to |)ursue their
separate avocations in th« s&me cause of mutual in-
terest.

Miriam ^s .now summoned to her father's study,
^he had observed the rabbin hast^y leave the cliff) as
he caught sighlT o# JHelei^^tuart, Who was with her on
her r^uft^from her jp<3»iliin|'s visit ta plencairn, and
th^erefore guessed v;rpit ^the JpurpOrt of so unusual a
summons mig^t be. Bi«t the ingenuous girl had no-
•?itthingJ6) fear, i§oshe willing']^ obeyed, #itha light hea^
toj^swer her father's interrogation^ on the c^versa-
tibSi which Ihe felt sure must have been overheard by
Mendez. * Here I com^0, dear ifather,' said the l||ugn-
ing girl, as she entered the room with a Bible in het
hand, < to pleisid the cause.jof Mendez vei^us Miikm,
and as counsel for the defc^ant, do I pronounce my
hapless client innocent of every charge against hqjr of
apostacy an^ disob^eijce.' Then playfully present-
ing the bpok, \^le Mling on one knee, she coptinued
in the same strain of assumed solemnity, * and also,
most honorable ^judge, do I surrender this banner of
infidelity which so unhappily fomented the wrath of our
august rabbin against my client, who now humbly
pleads * not guilty ' of treasonable intent in receiving
such a badge of heresy from the opponents of our noble
cause, but rather for the obtaining your lordship's sig-
nature and seal to the very laudable design of refuting
the same to the conversion of Gentiles, and for the
furtherance of our own religion amid these dark moun-
tains of heathen ignqjrance.'

* Rise, then, most learned advocate,' replied Imlah,

MIRIAM. 65

smiling, and taking the hand of his prostrate pleader/
with the same playful gravity, * let the cause be fairly
tried, and so shall it be adjuged accordingly. Biit
methinks the pretext weak, upon which your client
justifies her suspicious contempt for our laws, which
you know are strict against every connivance at he-
retical interference, and such, at least, we conceive is
her possession of this apostate creed.'

Miriam, whose patience was by no means inclined
to keep pace with tffe tedious proceedings of legal pros
and cons, which this mimic tribunal threatened, threw
aside her assumed character to plead for herself in her
own plain words. • A truce to law, dear father,' she
exclaimed, * and I will seriously tell you that Helen
Stuart lent me this book, at my own request, condi-
tionally that I would not even open it without your
previous knowledge and permission, which I willingly
promised to do.'

* And for what childish curiosity, Miriam,' said Im-
lah, * do you desire to penetrate that veil of mystery
and imposture,, which at the peril of my curses, I have
so solemnly commanded you never-to touch ? '

* It is for no curiosity of my own,' replied Miriam,
with a countenance imploring forgiveness, * but because
I wish to convince Helen that our scriptures are di-
vinely authorised, and that the New Testament can-
not possibly prove that the predictions of our Mesiah
were really fulfilled in the person of Jesus Christ, which
she has proijaised to believe, if, in comparing it with
our scriptures, I can improve them inconsistent with
each other, which surely may easily be done, if you will
but help me in the task.'

* But how, Miriam, dared you even discuss a subject
which I have so often cautioned you to avoid 1 '

* Most sacredly have I ever done so, my dearest
&ther, until last night, when reading the book of our
prophet Zachariah, I was str^ck|;^^ith the promise, that

■ .A.~''**.

66 MIRIAM.

'in the latter days ten men shall take hold of the skirts
of a Jew, out of all languages of the nation ; and im-
mediately my heart rejoiced, and I thought of dear He-
len's love to me, as being surely of the Lord to' aid her
conversion ; ' for may not 1 be one of those Jews, my
^tlier, of whom even this Gentile family may take hold
and say, * we will go with you for we have heard that
God is with you.* The design of leading them all to
this, has ever since so filled my mind, that I was un-
warily led to open the subject with frelen this morning,
even Wore I had obtained your permission, but it was,
believe me, with no intent to conceal from you a sin-
gle word of what might pass between us.'

* Silly child,' exclaimed Imlah, while he could not
, forbear smiling at the simplicity of his artless Miriam,,
* you know not the mass of obstinacy and superstition
you will have to contend with, before you can awaken
conviction in a Gentile mind. You must leave the task
to abler hands, my child, although I hope the day is al-
ready beginning to dawn, which will forever end this
long, long night of Israel's captivity ! Yes, Miriam,
when the avenging sword of our Messiah shall slay these
proud usurpers, then, but not till then, will Gentiles
gladly lay hold of an Israelite's skirt, and ask mercy
from those to whom so little mercy has been shown !
That glorious day is now, I trust, at hand, and you, my
Miriam, may soon be called to a nobler mission, than
converting the peasants of Glencairn ! '

Miriam lobked surprised and half-alarmed, as she
asked her father's meaning. He then told her all that
he thought necessary of the embassy in which he was
engaged, only concealing from her that which more im-
mediately concerned herself ; but when h6 mentioned
the probability of their so soon leaving England, all the
joy, betrayed in her bright countenance as she heard of
the probable restorati^of her people, yielded to such
an expression of miii^hd sorrow and surprise, that Im-
lah, disappointed, askea her, * if she were weak enough

JS>

MIRIAM. 67

, to regret the prospect of freedom from their gloomy
exile ? '

J * O no/ she mournfully replied, endeavoring to rally
her thoughts. * I am glad, very glad we are going, if
you will be happier in Germany than here ; for I have
often wished that you, too, had friends to allure your
thoughts from sorrow ;* but here ^gain her feelings ov-
erpowered her, and totally overcome by the strange
confusion of ideas which lay so suddenly floating on her
mind, of wars ana conquests, vengeance and power,
hope, and ambition, which her father's vivid detail had
so readily excited, she threw her arm? around his
neck, and sobbed in all the violence of contending feel-
ings. Imlah pressed her fondly to his bosom, but for
' some moments attempted not to check her tears, which
h^ knew^o be only the overflowings of a heart as yet
unused to the emotions of surprise. But the feelings
of youth are transient, and soon was the countenance
.©f Miriajn restored to its wonted cheerfulness, as now,
half laughing through her tears, she asked a thousand
questions, and listened with renewed delight to the
nov^ties of*' her anticipated destiny.

* In the mean time, dear child,' said Imlah, * you are
no longer restricted in your intercourse with your
Gentile friends. Hear what you will of tjieir religion,
that you may the better be enabled to establish your
own, should you hereafter be called upon to refute our
opposers. But remember, that this alone is the pur-
pose for which you are thus entrusted with so unlimited
a power of judging for yourself, and in the utmost con-
fidence of your firmness and integrity it is yielded to you.
At your peril then, Miriam, abuse .i i at tier's trust, for
I once more repeat, that every curse a parent can call
down from Heaven should be the forfeit of your apos-
tacy. But this I do not fear, for I believe my noble
girl has a mind beyond the reajjlpf superstition, and a
heart too fondly linked with hH^fether's happiness, to
yield either the one or the other to the mysterious spells

68 MIRIAM*

of Christian idolatry. Take, then, this jumble of their
faith/ added he, scornfully throwing the New Testa-
ment before her, * and see how well ignorance can feed
upon the dregs of superstition. How, while the mys-
teries and miracles of our great prophet have been
slighted, the idle tales of a few infatuated fishermen
have been accredited and received ! '

* Never shall they deceive me, dearest father,' ex-
claimed Miriam, while with thoughts occupied with a
far different conversion, she added, * and be assured,
I shall read this book with a better design, than tg mar,
your happiness, or the faith which God and ^the pro-
phets have revealed to the remnant of their chosen ser-
vants.'

* But still with one condition, must I limit this in-
dulgence,' said Imlah, thoughtfuHy; 'it is^ that you
w^ill consult the rabbjn on every difficulty vs^ich pan
possibly excite a doubt, aye, the shadow of a doubt, in
your mind ; for I well know those specibus fools have
so artfully entwined some truth with their mass of false-
hood, that it may require a more experienced head
than yours, my child, to discern the one anfl detect the
other. Now leave me, Miriam,^ for I have papers of
importance to despatch ere the sun sets, and the day is
already ebbing fast away. But remember, you must
carqfully conceal all that has passed between us, save
the prospect of our leaving England, which I shall wish
you rather to report as a certainty; and with such
tidings, you may if you will bear my thanks to Mrs.
Stuart for her kindness to you, and above all, for the
forbearance with which you say she has desisted
from interfering with our opinions. Then, afler a
pause, he added, as a generous feeling kindled in his
bosom at the remembrance of her honest worth, * Yes,
she has been kind and unobtrusive, which is more than
might have been expected from a Gentile to a Jew. So
1 may thank her,' said he haughtily, 'and may almost
wish a blessing on them all, for I believe they are

MIRIAM. 69

amongst the few Christian apostates, who err more
from ignorant simplicity than willful apostacy.'

Never before had Miriam heard a blessing fall from
her father's lips upon a Christian soul, and, as if the
sweetest boon had been bestowed upon herself, she
took his hand, and pressed it gratefully between both
her own in silent acknowledgement of such welcome
praise. She dared not speak, lest she might, by one
unwary word, touch the spring of some slumbering ill,
and change the current of his thoughts to their wonted
bitterness. So she only blest him in the expressive ,
eloquence of her soft dark eyes, and hastily left him to
meditate upon those strange events, which in a few
hours seemed to have changed the whole tide of exist-
ence. •

The next morning Miriam arose, after a night of
dreams, in which Germany an4 Glencairn alternately
filled her mind. The one with visions of vague and
indefinable happiness, the other with the anguish of
parting, perhaps for ever, from those whom next her
father she most loved on earth. So in her waking
moments was her heart oppressed with a thousand va-
rying feelings, as she stood at her window looking on
the peaceful valley where she had passed such joyous
hours, and scarcely thought the change could be a
happy one, which must remove her from those sweet
haunts of her childhood. But again the promise of
her country's freedom roused the wonted energy of her
mind, and she only wondered why she felt not happier
when her earliest and fondest wish was so soon about
to be realised. Helen's little bible caught her eye,
and recalled the design which but yesterday had so ab-
sorbed her very soul. She took it up, and opened at
the second chapter of Acts, in which a mark was placed.
She read it, and was surprised to find so many refer-
ences to the Old Testament, and immediately compared
the texts, in which certainly appeared no inconsistency ;
* but after all,' thought she, again carelessly closing the

70 MIRIAM.

book, *St. Peter gives us here no /^roo/ ihat Christ was
he whom David prophesied should see no corruption,
and as my father says, some truth must be mingled to
make the fiction plausible.'

She now obeyed the summons to breakfast, and
having hastily finished the meal, she repaired to Glen-
cairn for the two-fold purpose of informing her friends
of her father's proposed departure and converting
Helen Stuart to the cause of Israel. With a liffht and
happy heart she descended the cliffs which raised
Fernhill above the luxuriant valley, now rich \yith the
first colorings of autumn and the freshness of a Sep-
tember morning added to the elasticity of her usual
spirits, while her imagination grew full of future hap-
piness, and every care lay for a time forgotten .in the
fertile hopes which fancy created in her susceptible
mind. But in reaching the sweet glen where she
again caught sight of the white cottage, whose peace-
ful beauties time had increased rather than marred,
since it first attracted her childish praise, her heart
became heavier and she seemed to wish that the pros-
pect of leaving it lay in more distant perspective.
* Never,' thought she, * shall I be happier than I have
been here ! And though I may indeed be more flat-
tered and distinguished in another country, I shall
never be so loved again as by the grateful tenants of
this humble dwelling.' Tears filled her eyes, and
scarcely were their traces gone ere she was met by
Helen, to whom the purport of her mission was soon,
related. * God's will be done,' said Helen, thought-
fully raising her eyes to heaven, * and may his blessing
ever follow you ! T had indeed hoped, and fervently
have I prayed that ' — but checking the expression of
her wishes, she simply added, * if it be right for you to
go, doubtless it will tend to your welfare; but in you,
dear Miriam, we shall indeed lose a kind, genetjous,
invaluable friend.' Miriam, grateful for this afl^ction-
ate eulogium, now caught the full sadness of Helen's

MIRIAM. 71

■7

own forebodings, and unwilling to trust her feelings,
she silently entered the cottage. Mrs. Stuart sat in-
dustriously occupied with work, while at the same time
she was listening to her little Jessie, who by her side
was attentively reading Bishop Home's beautiful Com-
mentary on the Psalms. She paused as Miriam ad-
vanced and ran forward to welcojne her, but was
checked from her usual expressions of delight by ob-
serving the tears which now more freely fell/ from Mi-
riam's eyes. Silence for some moments ensued, till
Mrs; Stuart anxious to know ^the cause of such un-
looked-for sorrow, mildly enquired what had happened.
Miriam, unable to answer, fell on her bosom and wept
bitterly, as ,she recalled all the maternal tenderness
with wliich Mrs. Stuart had for months brightened her
solitary life with almost a mother's love. * Miss Dur-
van is going to leave us,' at length replied Helen,
* and in a few weeks will probably be for ever settled
in her own native country.' Mrs. Stuart thus relieved
from more serious fears, pressed the grateful Miriam to
her heart and bade her be comforted, ' For it is we
alone, I hope,' she added, * that can in this prospect
need consolation, since you should rather be congratu-
lated on what your father has so long desired.' All
that she dared reveal, Miriam now. repeated to her
anxious auditors, and Mrs. Stuart recalling only the
advantages of her return to Germany, soon restored the
cheerfulness which had been for a time disturbed.
Jessie alone would not feel reconciled to the prospect
of losing her favorite companion. She had sat down
on a little stool by Miriam's side, and resting her arm
upon her knee, silently fixed her blue eyes on Miri-
am's face, while deaf to all that was passing, she could
only think of what that sweet girl had been and still
was to her. How, like another sister, she had so fondly
nulled and watched in her illness, and was ever will-
ing stifl to amuse or teach her, whether she wished to
play or learn. Thus filling her young heart to over-

si-

72 MIRIAM.

•

flowing 1)y these associations, she at length covered
her face with both her hands, and laying her head in
Miriam's lap, she softly cried in all the pettishness of
childish sorrow. Miriam was now the comforter. She
dearly loved that child, and tried to soothe her sorrow
by every promise calculated to make the parting less
appalling.

Miriam then mentioned the permission she had ob-
tained from her father to read the New Testament,
and she challenged Helen in an argument on its con-
tents, playfully defying her to prove its authority upon
the testimony of the ancient inspired writers. * Now
do not be obstinate, Helen,' added she, laughing, * but ^
remember your promised acquiescence, if» I can prove
the inconsistencies of your scriptures with our own.'

* Yes ! if indeed you can do so,' replied Helen, * I
will that moment yield my creed to yours.' She look-
ed at her mother as she spoke with a significant smile
of delight, her whole countenance brightening with so
unexpected a mercy, while inwardly she asked the
blessing of God upon the engagement

The widow was even still more deeply a fleeted by
what appeared so miraculous an inaulgence on the
part of Imlah. She was indeed ignorant of the condi-
tions and purport, by which the privileges had been
compromised, but she too well knew where to trace the
blessing to call it one of chance ; so in her heart she
praised ' the fountain of all goodness,' and was thankful
for any circumstance which had opened the Bible to
the young Jewess, believing that her comprehensive
mind would i*eadily embrace the truth ' as it is in Jesus,'
when ofTered in the plain convictions of scripture.
Mrs. Stuart, however, judiciously forebore pressing the ,
subject, lest she should appear unfairly to overrule the
objections of the opponent, before she Avas prepared for
the trial ; she therefore ojaly expressed the pleasuT©«she
should have in becoming a party in so interesting a
discussion, and assured ^liriam that she too would be

■ * » . *
•%'^\

MIRIAM. 73 H

a willing proselyte if she succeeded in establishing her
threatened clause.

Poor Miriam, delighted by this encouragement,
thought the conversion of the whole family was now in-
sured, and already did her vivid fancy picture them * lay-
ing hold ' of her * skirt,' not from fear, 'but from sterling
conviction, and leaving all to follow her father and the
sacred cause of Israel. So she took leave of her
friends with a lighter heart, under an engagement
shortly to meet agairf to combat with Helen the interest-
ing subject in question. Whenever the principle and
practice of piety is found united, its force carries an ir-
resistible appeal to every heart which can candidly es-
timate the value of religion, however different from its
own mAy be the opinions on which that principle and
that practice be founded. The conscientious discharge
of duty according to the faith professed, is the most
powerral evidence through which we, in our limited
judgtoent of each other, receive the testimony of the
soul's desire to be right ; and whenever this evidence is
met by a mind unbiassed by prejudice, whether exem-
plified in Jew or Gentile, Catholic or Protestant, we
must at least revere the endeavor thus evinced of serv-
vig God, although we may regret and pity the errors
upon which we believe that practical obedience estab-
lished.

It was this beautiful consistency, so strikingly mani-
fested in the conduct of Mrs. Stuart and Helen, that
had softened the feelings of Imlah Dqrvan towards
them, and changed his rooted aversion for Christian
individuals to a. more lenient enmity against theSir treed
alone; and that had at first endeared them to i^b^ gener-
ous heart of Miriam, who almost unconscii^ittefy found
her sweetest enjoyment now centered in their affection
and society,' while oflen would she wish the barrier re-
mote which so sadly separated them in those first
' j^inciples, by which a more intimate union of heart
rtttd filling might otherwise have been openly cement-

ifi^

74 MIRIAM.

cd. In Helen, however, she found a companion, if of
an humbler standard in mental acquirements, still equal
to herself in good sense, and that refinement of mind,
which flows from the spring of true piety, and throws
a lustre over the character which raises its pos-
sessor far above the mere creature of rank or educa-
tion.

Such was Helen : and Miriam thought it no conde-
scension to love her modest worth, or to appreciate the
affection of one, whom she now, #ith the humility of a
truly noble mind, regarded as an example to herself
Helen, indeed, had been early trained to the practice of
self-denial, and eis time unrolled the vicissitudes of life,
she became the more convinced of its necessity, even in
those daily trials, which are often thought too unimpor-
tant to call forth the exercise of Christian virtues. To
this watchfulness over self, she owed that equanimity
of temper which enabled her so sweetly to bear and for-
bear. Her unsophisticated mind followed the simple
principles of truth, such as her Bible had taught her,
and her endeavor was to keep her mind constantly
under the subjection of divine influence ; while firm in
every purpose of duty, she had nothing of that unbend-
ing reserve which too oflen accompanies what is called
— decision of character. Such a mind was peculiar- ;
ly fitted to guide and influence one, who with many
virtues, wanl;ed those of self-control ; for the education
of Miriam had not been favorable to the discipline of
the heart, and often satiated with the unvaried splendor
which so coldly dazzled around her, and yet too sensible
of the indulgence which had raised it solely for her
sake openly to complain, she began to feel that some-
thing beyond these perishable baubles was indeed ne-
cessary for the happiness of the soul ; for with all that
human wishes could require, she was restless and dis-
satisfied, and gladly would she sometimes have ^Ex-
changed her useless talents and unvalued wealth *'lbr
the peace and industry which blessed the simple cotta-
gers of Glencairn ! :»

-i
*. •

MIRIAM. 75

w had early been taught to believe that the happi-
of Christians was derived only from a temporary
nph of successful fanaticism, permitted for a time
imble Israel, and to accomplish the prophecies of
s unerring justice. But she had seen that happi-
too surely realised in peace of mind which this
d could not give, longer to doubt its value, though
ly could she understand the principle from which
irang. Nor could she but frequently compare her
home with that of her Christian friends, and when
lid so, JudaisnL«eemed to throw a gloom of myste-
j coloring over the one, which darkened not the
r. She had seen Christianity tranquilise the soul,
mould the heart to the most patient endurance of
oil ills, while her own religion produced no evi-
e of its boasted power ; and she trembled, as she
ed to solve this mystery, at the threatened risk of
rent's malediction.- It is true, she had never seen
b of the Jewish w^orld beyond her own circle, but
if new that both her father and the rabbin were ac-
vledged as high standards of the Jewish character,
)nly in talent, but in principle, and yet, were either
lem happy ? They talked of certain deliverance,
seemed not to shrink from the trials of their tempo-
bondage. But how did they enjoy this boasted
J, or how was this submission evidenced 7 She had
her father sinking beneath the rigors of self-in-
*d fasts, and yet the sacrifice bestowed no brighter
e to tell that peace was the result ; and while he
?ssed to rise above the scoflT of man, he lived an
ted being amidst mankind, as if he dared not meet
the glance of pity. The rabbin, if less the vic-
3f despair, was not more influenced by the faith of
jh he boasted. Infatuated, from his youth, to be-
j that he should see Jerusalem restored, and live to
the personal presence of Messiah, the poor old
now stood, as it were, on the verge of the pill||._ ^..;>,,..
of apprehension, and irritated by this

76 MIRIAM.

longing old age daily became more irksome, although
he would fain have retarded the rapid flight of time,
lest death should disappoint the ambition for which
alone he wished to live ; and thus had the natural tenac-
ity of his disposition increased to a moroseness miser-
able to himself, and trying to all around him. In this
spirit, did the inmates of Fern hill mutually hail with
delight the prospect of a new career, which seemed to
change the whole tenor of their thoughts from melan-
choly to happiness. Imlah no longer bore upon his
brow the gloom of inward and concealed despair. He
was active in his pursuits, and almost cheerful in his
hours of recreation. ' Mendez, too, diverted from spleen
and discontent, heeded no ills while occupied in the im-
portant task of restoring the broken genealogy of Is-
rael's tribes ; and even Miriam, when she could forget
the Stuarts, was as much elated at the thoughts of a
busier life, as her father could desire.

CHAPTER V.

A favorite grotto, formed in the interior of St. Ro-
land's cliff, was dedicated by Miriam to retirement and
study. It was her sanctum, in which none, unasked by
her, dared venture to intrude, and was the extent of
boundary which Imlah had prescribed for Christian in-
tercourse, beyond which no Christian tread was suffer-
ed to approach the magnificent mansion of Fernhill.

MIRIAM. 77

It was a spot well calculated for repose and meditation.
Shaded on every side from observation by the luxuriant
covering of over-hanging foilage, none could approach
its entrance, without a timely warning of such intrusion
to the recluse, who might be engaged within its glitter-
ing precincts. A fountain, of the purest marble, fanci-
fully played before it, whose sparkling waters mingled
with the calm Avona, as they fell from their fairy
spring into the stream beneath the cliff; while in the
distance lay the fertile glen, always to Miriam so wel- |

come a perspective. The interior of the cave was fur-
nished with such sources of amusement as Miriam
most delighted in ; and here would she often enjoy the
toils of literature, or in lighter hours, the music of her
harp, to which her sweet voice would answer in some
mournful song of Zion. It was in this retreat thak
Miriam and Helen were now contesting the arguments
in favor of their respective creeds ; the one puzzled
amid intricacies and contradictions of the Talmud, the
other firm in her simple persuasions of Christian reve-
lation, while she endeavored to prove Jesus * the Lamb
slain from the foundation of the world,' the * one ob-
lation offered for the sins of all mankind,' upon which
done salvation cquld depend. *Then according to
your view of the subject,' exclaimed Miriam, * the sin-
offerings of Moses and the inspired prophets were
raised to heaven in vain, and all expelled from the fa-
vor of God who had no blood to sprinkle upon their
altars — of a man not then thought of — whom Chris-
tians persist in receiving as their Redeemer. You
cannot, of course, believe the Scriptures concerning
Moses and the prophets, since you deny the efficacy of
those types and ceremonies, by which the covenant of
a Messiah was divinely established between Jehovah
and ourselves ? '

* Most sacredly do I believe them all,' earnestly re-
plied Helen, * nor do I consider them the least contra-
dictory to the covenant fulfilled in the Redeemer. We -«-■

78 MIRIAM.

<3iffer not in our vie\ys of the promises of 'God, but
widely in the method of their accomplishment. We
believe, by a thousand well .attested and unanswerable
evidences, that the Messiah then predicted was ful-
filled in the person of Jesus Christ, while you, denying
his divinity and mission, still await the deliverance
which is already completed. But far be it from any
Christian to *deny the works of your great lawgiver,
typical as they all were, of those which afterwards
sealed the work of redemption. The sin-offerings of
Israel were but mystical of that one sacrifice made for
ail mankind by the blood of our spotless Lamb ; and
^these accepted, I conceive, only so far as they were
spiritually offered a^ sureties of faith in the efficacy of
God's appointed means, not for any virtue or atone-
ment in themselves. These have ceased, according to
prophecy,. since the coming of Messiah, which in itself,
offers so obvious a proof in favor of Jesus Christ, that
I am surprised you can deny it.'

* For the sins and iniquities of our father,' answer-
ed Miriam, 'Jerusalem was to become a reproach,
and for this cause* doubtless we are still left without al-
tars and without sacrifice. What further proof can
you adduce from the Old Testament that Messiah is al-
ready come ? '

* The sceptre shall not depart from Judah until Shi-
loh come^ replied Helen ; if, therefore, he be not
come, it is not extraordinary that at the coming of Jc-
sus,N the sceptre immediately departed from Judah.
And, again, the prophet, whom you have quoted, de-
clared that afler seventy weeks, * shall Messiah be cut
off, but not for himself,* and the * people of the prince
that shall come, shall destroy the city and the sanctua-
ry ;' *that he shall confirm the covenant with many for
one week, and in the midst of the week He shall cause
the sacrifice and oblation to cease : ' all which was
wonderfully accomplished at the comming of Jesus

, Christ. I am not learned, and you can, doubtless,

MIRIAM. 79

more clearly comprehend the calculqitions respecting'
the seventy weeks, than I can explain them, but 1 see
that the works of Christ, and the destruction of your
temple, declared Him to be the subject of the prophecy
both as to time and event.'

• But Daniel himself acknowledged that he did not
know the time of Messiah's coming,' said Miriam, * for
when he asked the Lord, the Lord answered him, * Go
thy way, Daniel ; for the words are closed up and sealed
till the time of the end.' '

• Yes,' replied Helen, *the prohpet is here, doubt-
less, speaking of the second coming of our Lord ; of
that time, concerning which Jesus himself predicted,

• the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the
holy angels with him, to judge the ends of the world.'
Else would Daniel's prophecy be inconsistent with
itselit when he declares the time revealed to be the end
of seventy weeks. And why, if prophesy had not
awakened expectation, did so many fajse Christs arise
among your people at the very time, in which, by the
computation of the ancient Jews, the Messiah was ex-
pected ? Why was Herod so anxious to destroy the
children of Bethlehem had, not his jealousy and alarm
been aroused by the fulfilment of so many prophecies,
even in the birth of Jesus ? and did not this very jea-
lousy, which caused the infant slaughter, wonderfully
aid the fulfilment of prohpecy spoken by Jeremy, * In
Rama was there a voice heard, lementation and weep-
ing and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her chil-
dren and would not be comforted, because they are
not.' While the miraculous escape of Jesus into Egypt
completed it, * Out of Egypt hatJe I called my son ! '
The same of whom God by his Holy Spirit afterwards
declared, * This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well
pleased.' '

• Remember, Helen,' said Miriam almost pettishly,

* I argue alone from the Old Testamerrt. This was
said to David on the day the Lord had set him as king

so MIRIAM*

on his holy hill^f Zion, * Thou art my Son, this day
have I begotten thee.* '

* David surely here spoke in prophecy of Messiah,'
replied Helen mildly ; * for he would have been a blas-
phemer had he said of himself, (which occurs in the
same psalm,) * Kiss the Son, lest he be angry and ye
perish from the way, when his wrath be kindled, yea,
but a litfle. Blessed are all they that put thedr trust in
Him.' Now trust in David would be idolatry.'

Miriam was silent, and after a few moments of deep
thought, in which she could find nothing to refute this
last argument, noted it without remark on her tablet,
as a questiofi for the rabbin. She then asked Helen
how she could reconcile her opinion, that Christ was
the Messiah, with the promise, that his coming was to
lead * captivity captive,-^ *and restore joy to Israel.'

* Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Jerusalem ! behold thy
King Cometh unto thee.' * Let the children of Israel
be glad in their King.' * Now,' added she, * by the
coming of Christ, Israel was not restored, but scat-
tered, great lamentation was heard in Rama, Christ
was received only by the Gentiles, and has brought de-
solation rather than rejoicing to our hapless country.'

* Because,' replied Helen, * the people of Israel would
not receive Qhrist as their king, notwithstanding He
so clearly verified the prediction, that He should come
unto them * lowly and riding upon an ass, and upon a
colt, the foal of an ass.' Therefore did he turn to the
Gentiles, to. whom the promise of a Messiah was
equally given, as Isaiah saith, • I will also give thee
for a light to the • Gentiles ; ' and again, * the Gentiles
shall come to thy light.' And now, ere your restora-
tion be fulfilled, which it doubtless will be, you must

• look on him whom you have pierced,' for your re-
joicing * city dwelt carelessly,' according to the prephe-
cy of Zephaniah, and *how is she become a desola-
tion?' Because *she obeyed not the voice of the
Lord,' so is she * scattered and left desolate. But God

>■ .. , *

MIRIAM. 81

in his great mercy, has yet retained a aremnant of his
. afflicted people for the accomplishment of the covenant
. si^poxn unto Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob. And He,
L> tvhose words are faithful, shall * redeem Israel from all
i^lier sins,' and then shall the * daughters of Jerusalem re-
joice, and be glad in their King.* O then, my beloved
Miriam,' earnestly exclaimed Helen, as she recalled
the words of truth in behalf of Israel's remnant, * why
so long delay to come to Christ, * the everlasting cove-
nant betwixt Jehovah and yourselves ; ' you who are
thus chosen in the remnant, why prolong the captivity
of your people, by adding * iniquity unto iniquity.*
Believe, now is the accepted time ; O, then, receive the
salvation offered by the blood of Christ, that you may
sing and rejoice that * all the judgments of the Lord '
may be taken from your soul. Raise not fresh diiSi-
culties and doubts in your mind by perverting the
Scriptures to your own destruction, but let me entreat
you to read, with an unbiassed mind, and much prayer,
the history of Christ, written by Jews, witnessed by
Jews, authenticated by Jews, in the fece of thousands,
who would gladly have contradicted events, had they
been falsely reported ; and see, Miriam, how every
work and word of Jesus our Redeemer bears evidence
of his divinity, his power, and his mission, in exact co-
incidence with all the predictions of God and the pro-
phets.'

Silence for some time ensued, and both the comba-
tants were too much agitated by the interest of their
subject immediately to resume it. Miriam was sur-
prised to find Helen so well fumishecjl with arguments
from the ancient scriptures, and felt so far staggered,
that she, began to fear her cause was lost respecting
Helen's conversion ; but still unwilling to yield her
own ground, she simply assured her, she would c^re-
fally read the New Testament, although she could not
in any way see the justice of what was there main-
. tained. But within herself she thought, • if it can
• 6

82 MIRIAM.

prove all this, then indeed it must either be the most
plausible falsehood ever framed, or we are deceived.'

The friends now parted, on a mutual agreement of
meeting again the next day to renew their argument.
Miriam repaired to the rabbin with her notes, and
Helen slowly returned home, full of the pious hope,
that the 'Sun of righteousness, with healing in his
wings was rising over the soul of Miriam to dispel the
darkness of Judaism, and to disperse the prejudice by
which her mind was blinded. She was indeed grate-
ful that even she had been thus chosen as an instru-
ment of awakening the attention of Miriam to the im-
portant inquiry, 'Art thou indeed the - Christ? ' but
too humble in her own powers to rest satisfied without
further assistance, she was vainly endeavoring to re-
collect some written refutation of the argument to elu-
cidate the difficulties which she might be incompetent
to meet. With thoughts anxiously engaged in this re-
search of memory, she reached her homo, where she
was delighted to frnd Mr. Howard awaiting he return,
assured that he would advocate her cause with Zealand
intere&t, and procure for her the means she sogght.
She therefore related to him what had passed, and then
asked him if he could furnish her with any book likely
to facilitate the truth.

* Yes,' replied Mr. Howard, smiling, ' I have a book
against which I defy all the Rabbis and Talmuds in
the world. 1 myself will be its bearer here to-mor-
row, if you think Miss Durvan will admit me in the
challenge as your second. ^

* Under the hope of making converts,' said Mrs.
Stuart, ' depend upon it she will gladly increase the
number of her opponents. I was admitted^as one of
them with the promise of becoming a proselyte, could
she make good her argument, but as I think two to one
enougii, I will yield my claim to youj and only be a
witness, not a sharer in your triumphs.'

* O mother,' exclaimed Helen, laughihg^ ' you

,*. ♦

MIRIAM. S3

weed not be quite so scrupulous, for remember Miriam
is a host within herself, doubly fortified as you may
rest assured she will be, with all the rabbi's erudition.'

* Well, let it be a single combat then,' said Mr.
Howard, *and I as rightful champion to the cause, will
alone take up the gauntlet, the Bible only both my
sword and shield.'

' With such defence,* replied Mrs. Stuart, * you
need not indeed fear to meet a host of spears, and may
our dear Miriam be as vulnerable to your attacks, and
as weak in her opposition against them, as I be-
lieve her destined to be. It is impossible to suppose
that a mind so earnestly desirous of imparting what
she believes the truth, shall seek the truth for itself in
vain.'

* Never,' exclaimed Mr. Howard ; * and already
has the power of God manifested itself too evidently
in her behalf to leave us doubtful of the issue of his
work.'

* And yet I wouW not have you too sanguine,' said
Helen, notwithstanding the advantages which appear
on our side ; for she seems strangely to pervert the
very texts upon which conviction hangs; and her time
with us is probably short, after which, remember she
will have no Christian influence to urge her forward
in her enquiries.'

* Depend upon it, Helen,' replied Mr. Howard,
* that no human influence is required in a work be-
longing to Him alone, in whose hands we are but pas^'
sive instruments, powerful only so far as he chooses
to make us so. Neither is he limited •^o time or place,
but can make one moment fulfil the work of years, or
ages await his sovereign will in the accomplishment
of every design*. Enough for us to know if we will
but steadfastly believe, that what he begins he will
-complete, and whatever he promises that he wiM faith-
iully perform.'

'But here,' said Helen, * we have no evidence as to

84 MIRIAM.

what his purposes may be respecting Miss Durvau,
who appears to me as blind against the truth as ever.'

* Nay, Helen/ replied Mr. Howard, * is her desire
10 obtain knowledge no evidence ? and if her mind be
still as dark, surely her heart is not so hardened, or she
would not now love you, or delight in works of kind-
ness to Christian sufferers ; and He who has made
her do so, will not leave her a victim to unwilling ig-
norance.*

* True^' said Helen, her sweet countenance beam-
ing with hope and pleasure ; * and as I see your faith
is more fitting the mission than my own, I trust your
influence will prove more awakening than mine has
been. Miriam is, indeed, a lovely girl, for with all her
wealth and talents she has a mind so enlarged with
heavenly desires, and a spirit of such genuine humility,
that she seems a jewel made for the crowTi of glory.'

* Ah ! Helen,' replied Mr. Howard, playfully shak-
ing his head, * I see that frail human nature will be
foremost, even in the best of us; and human judg-
ment with all its weak partialities will still claim the
pre-eminence of wisdom even in your simple head.
The jewels of heaven are not chosen for brilliancy of
form or coloring, for He to whom the crown belongs
is no respecter of persons, but will choose the gems
which on earth are too often despised, the poor, the
meek, the humble, and the contrite souls of his faith-
ful and believing servants, These alone in his pure

"sight will be jewels meet for glory, and they, who alas !
have trusted to more splendid claims, will find how
vain are the perishable baubles of worldy honor to
obtain a place in heaven.'

* Amen, of course, to all you say,' replied Helen,
' for you always put my wisdom to the blush.'

' Well, I will take this palm branch and begone
lest another gauntlet be thrown down before me by
Miss Dur van's little page in yonder corner,' said Mr.
Howard, looking at little Jessie, whose countenance

MIRIAM. 85

somewhat betrayed displeasure^ on hearing the praises
of her favorite so readly smothered by the minister's
philosophy. * Indeed, Mr. Howard,' she exclaimed,'
you will do well to go for if / might I could say, that
if Miss Durvan does not go to heaven, I know who, I
think, will not.' Here the mother was about to inter-
pose her authority, but Mr. Howard rising to depart,
prevented further reply. ,

Arthur Howard, the curate of Glencairn, was one of
the truly faithfuHpastors of our church. His studies
had been completed at Oxford, in the midst of those
advantages and temptations which are said to be usually
combined in college life ; but naturally of a contem-
plative mind, domestic habits, and an ardent thirst for
knowledge, he had embraced the one with honor to
himself, and escaped the evils of the latter. He had,
indeed, like other young men, probably often pursued
the follies of pleasure and repented their consequences,
but no charge of vice or dissipation had ever been
levelled against him, even by those who were ill dis-
posed to look kindly on principles and feelings which
reproached their own. Among the most worthy and
learned of his fellow-laborers he was beloved and en-
couraged, and by the rest, if sometimes ridiculed he
was always respected. ^

He had few ties of family connection. A mystery
hung over his birth which he had in vain attemp^d to
unravel. He only knew that his mother had died in
his infancy, and was never spoken of, that his father
was a proud, indolent, and well connected citizen, who
either from indifference, or a natural dislike to child-
ren, had seldom shown him much personal kindness or
affection ; but had consigned him to the care of an
elder sister, sufficiently satisfied with her promise of
attention to the child, without taking any further part
in it himself. He had since died, leaving his son
provided with little beyond an excellent education,
and the patronage of a rich relative, whose guardian-

^
<

86 MIRIAM.

ship his father had, in v the compunctious visitings of
death, earnestly claimed for that son whom he feU he
had in life so shamefully neglected. The baronet, to
whom the appeal was not made in vain, interested in
the character and situation of the young-student, had
liberally fulfilled his promise of support, and to him
was Arthur now indebted for the curacy of Glen-
cairn, which together with a fellowship, satisfied his
unambitious views.

The good old aunt who had reared his childhood, was
well remembered. She, too, Was now * gathered to
her fathers,' but Arthur never forgot the pious pre-
cepts and example whi^h early bassed his mind to the
love of Christian virtue; such as was ever afterwards
the helm of his own conduct. He had not taken orders
carelessly with an oath of mere form, which is too
often broken^ the hour it passes the lips ; but impressed
with the solemnity of so sacred a charge, Jie had dedi-
cated himself to the church 'in spirit and in truth.'
So had his ministry at Glencairn been conscientiously
fullfilled with credit to himself, and to the comfort, nay
— may we not add ? — to the saving of many souls, by
the zealous teaching of the gospel *as it is in Jesus.'
Previously to the period in which our story com-
mences, he had taken possession of his curacy only a
few months, and it was not surprising that he very
soon learnt to appreciate the society of a Jaraily so
congenial to the whole tenor of his mind as that of
Mrs. Stuart. From his peculiar situation in life he
felt an isolated being, for on the death of his benefac-
tress, the only tie was lost [which had taught him the
feelings of domestic love. Naturally susceptible, per-
haps to a fault, he was keenly alive to the stigma
which hung over his birth, in a world where parentage
is too often the only passport into society : so that life
would have become a blank to him, had he not wisely
learnt to rise above the narrow prejudices which di-
vided him from its social claims, and to place his heart

MIRIAM. 87

s where alone real happiness can be found. Thus dis-
ciplined, Arthur had fully experienced the nothingness

. of earthly promise, and to value only the good hope
which shall be more than realised in that blessed
l^ome, where * faith is lost in sight,' and every bliss
realised in the endless presence of our Redeemer. In
Glencairn, however, he was exposed to no trials but in
the remembrance of the past. He had enough of
earthly riches to possess every moderate comfort for
himself, and largely to contribute to the relief of
others, with time and inclination to fulfil the duties of
his stewardship, without that exhaustion of health and
mind, which, in a more extensive parish, is sometimes
the sacrifice of ministerial labors. In his preaching
he was simple, faithful, and comprshensive ; always
what might have been called (by those who like the
distinction) truly evangelical : but in his feelings he
was liberal and slow to condemn, and averse to all
that Pharisaical formality which so often causeth * the
w^eaker brethren to stumble.' Time had endeared
him to the heart of Mrs. Stuart almost as a son. She
knew his worth, and often loved to trace in his pious
conduct associations which powerfully recalled the
character of her beloved husband ; for Arthur, grate-
ful for her kindness, and appreciating her esteem,,
regarded her as one in whom Providence had replaced
Jor him the sweet claims of that maternal affection,
which God in his sovereign wisdom had so early seen
fit to sever. So to her were often repeated tales of
his childhood, or the sorrows of maturer years without
disguise of thought or wish. It was said that towards
Helen he had even a tenderer feeling, but he had
never asked more from Mr than a sister's love, and she
had too much good sense and too little vanity either to
mistake his meaning, or to suppose herself an object
of deeper interest. Prudence on his part probably
alone denied the thoughts of marriage until the posses-^
sion of a living, to which he looked forward, would

88 MIRIAM.

enable him to sacrifice his fellowship without diffi-
culty.

The morrow now came on which Miriam was to
meet Mrs. Stuart and Helen as her antogonists ; and
having obtained much strength in herown opinions, by
the plausible Reasonings of Mendez , which she con-
ceived must altogether confound her opponents, she
reached the glen full of renewed zeal and assured
hopes of conquest. She was not, therefore, at all in-
timidated on finding that Mr. Howard had united with
the force against her, so far from it, she felt that she
could the more freely advance difficulties, which deli-
cacy towards the unlettered Helen might otherwise
have prevented. Decorated with more than an ordi-
nary profusion of jewels, as if anxious to display both
in dress and character every insignia of her peculiar
sect and country, never did she look more lovely, or
feel more confident, than when challenged, she gave
her hand to Mr. Howard, in token of the heart's good
will, although she came, as she said, with the full hope
of leaving him * vanquished on the field of argument,
to the immortal glory of Israel and herself' She then
desired Corah, who had accompained her as the bearer
of her Talmud, to lay before her the talisman by which
she thought to overcome all opposition. It was mag-
nificently bound, and seemed to defy, if, size, and beauty
of covering could do so, every attack against its boasted
truth. Mr. Howard, smiled as he tpok from his pocket
a small plain Bible, evidently much used, and placed it
beside its formidable rival, saying, as he drew his x: hair
to the table, * AH I possess shall be forfeited, aye, to
my very soul, Miss Durvan, if that book of yours can,
upon evidence, contradict one^ single assertion of this
most sacred and precious deposit of our faith.'

* So let it be,' replied Miriam, throwing oflT her bon-
net, and arranging some notes she had collected to as-
sist her memory, * my conquest shall be one of mercy,
for to Israel only, and not to death, shall your posses-

t'l

MIRIAM. 89

sioTis be consigned, where, believe me, your soul will
be in far safer keeping than where it now stands.'

"* A lady tells me so,' replied Mr. Howard, smiling,
*and I dare not contradict her; therefore to arms, my
fair antagonist, and let our swords adjudge the cause
between us.'

* Enough,' said Miriam, impatient to- commence a
more substantial argument. * And now, Mr. Howard,
tell me upon what grounds you Gentiles have thought
proper to usurp the privileges of a Messiah, when cer-
tainly to Israel alone, and not to you, was the Messiah
promised ? I offer as a proof of this, the covenant
sworn to our fathers, * The Redeemer shall come to

* Pardon me,' calmly replied Mr. Howard, *if I say
that in no part of the Old Testament will you find that
Israel alone was to enjoy the covenant of a Messiah ;
so far the contrary, that the very first predictions of
Scripture which can possibly relate to the subject, were
given at the time, when the distinction of * Abraham
and his seed' and * the families of the Gentiles ' began,
and promised that in the Messiah all nations and all
families of the earth should be blessed. How then can
you separate us Gentiles from the promise ? '

* Yes,' said Miriam, * but the Gentiles were not to
be gathered in until the restoration of Israel was ac-
complished, which event the coming of the Messiah
only can ftilfil. How then do you reconcile the present
alienated state of our people with the opinion that He
is already come, who was to restore not to scatter us,
to vanquish our enemies, not to become one of them
himself? for the Lord said, * Israel should be glad,^
and the * daughter of Zion rejoice.' * That the punish-
ment of her iniquity should be accomplished,' and she
should be carried no more away into captivity. Has
Jesus Christ fulfilled this prophecy % and if not, of what
use is his coming to us ?'

* He accomplished the pardon, and turned away the

90 MIRIAM.

captivity of every Israelite who received him as King
and Saviour,' replied Mr. Howard. ' All Israel were
indeed called upon to rejoice and be glad, but this is
by no means a single instance of the disobedience of
Israel to the exhortations and even commands of God.
They had here cause greatly to rejoice, but they them-
selves turned the blessing to a prolonged curse by their
unbelief and rebellion. They rejected and even cruci-
fied their Redeemer, and persecuted, with unrelenting
fury, those who became his followers : as the Apostle
truly said, ' Ye stiff-necked and uncircumcised in heart
and ears, ye do alwi^ys resist the Holy Ghost : as your
fathers did, so do ye. Which of the prophets have not
your fathers persecuted ? ' But the prediction was, not-
withstanding, fully verified, even here, in the person of
Jesus Christ : he did enter Zion * lowly and riding
upon a colt the foal of an ass,' while thousands hailefd
him with hosannas, confessing him the ' son of David,
come in the name of the Lord.' Was his mission then
useless to Israel, when thus multitudes of Jews actually
did embrace the covenant in him, and received the ac-
complishmenl of their iniquity? But in no part of
Scripture is salvation promised to the wilfully unbe-
lieving and impenitent. Upon these a curse has fallen
from all ages, past and to come. The mission of Mo-
ses was to bring Israel as a nation out of Egypt, but
says God, by Ezekiel, *they rebelled against me, and
would not hearken unto me, then I said, I will pour ray
fury upon them to accomplish my anger against them
in the midst of Egypt ;' and notwithstanding the inter-
cession of Moses and Aaron in their behalf, and all the
entreaties used to bring them to obedience and belief,
was any thing sufficient to curb their rebellious spirit
save the most dreadful judgment? ' Yea, they despised
the pleasant land, they believed not the word of the
Lord."

* All this,' interrupted Miriam, * is surely irrelevant
to the argument in question. We are discussing the

MIRIAM. 91

mission of Messiah, not of Moses. We do not deny
the iniquities of our fathers, and we own our punish-
ment just, which still we bear from generation to ge-
neration.'

* The rebellion of the ancient Israelites against
Moses, who was a type of the Messiah, is nevertheless
a powerful argument Miss Durvan, to prove the extra-
ordinary blindness and unbelief of Jews, even in the
face of evidence — of signs and wonders — of entreaties
and threatenings. As they rejected the word of God,
and the mission of Moses, so here ye rejected the fulfil-
ment of the law and Jesus your Messiah: and thus
many a design of mercy towards you, in the time of
Moses, as in the time of Christ, has been frustrated by
wilfbl perverseness and unbelief. God would most
surely have accomplished the full pardon of Israel,
when in the persqn of his Son the claims of justice were'
sealed for ever ; and for this purpose, was the Messiah
promised, doubtless, more particularly to the Jews ;
but notwithstanding all the signs and wonders which
accompanied his birth, his ministry, his death and
resurrection, Israel would not believe : ' Yea,' as Isaiah
says from the Lord, • thou heardest not, thou knewest
not :' so that Messiah turned to the Gentiles and ' spake
peace ' to them, for they came to him with believing
hearts, as propheciedby Jeremiah, *The Gentiles shall
come unto thee from the ends of the earth.' * I will
call them my people, which were not my people, and
her beloved which was not beloved ; and k shall come
to pass, that in the place Avhere it was said unto them,
ye are not my people, there shall they be called the
children of the living God.' Surely these prophecies
require no father comment to prove its entire relation
to the conversion of the Gentiles.' •

* Granting then, said Miriam, coloring, ' that the
Gentiles shall eventually be converted, this prophecy is
no proof that Messiah is already come, since I repeat
that by him was Israel to be restored, and that it is not

92 MIRIAM.

yet so, is an undeniable evidence of his still tarrying.
Even your Testament, Mr. Howard, does not venture
an assertion that such a restoration is accomplished ;
and if not, the Scriptures must be contradictory, or
your traditions altogether false.*

* Not in the least ' replied Mr. Howard, * if you
candidly compare the one with the other. Read St.
James's application of the prophecy of Amos, ' God at
the ^r5^ did visit the Gentiles to take out of them a
people for his name, and to this agree the words of the
prophets ; as it is written, after this I will return and
build again the tabernacle of David, which is fallen
down ; and I will build again the ruins thereof, and I
will set up.' Now certainly here is implied a conver-
sion of the Gentiles ^previously to the restoration of the
tabernacle of David. The unbelief of your people my
dear Miss Du rvan, provoked the Alnjighty to prolong
your captivity, for they would not turn to the Lord their
God, that they might be healed. * O that thou hadst
hearkened to my commandments, then had thy peace
been as a river, and thy righteousness as the waves of
the sea !' And how well does this appeal agree with
our Savior's exquisitely touching lamentation over you,

• O Jerusalem, Jerusalem ! thou that killest the pro-
phets, and stonest them which were sent unto thee, how
often would I have gathered thy children together, ev-
en as a hen ^thereth her chickens under her wings,
and ye would not /,' '

* This appeal of Isaiahj' said Miriam, apparently
not hearing the latter text, * was in reference to the
disobedience of the children in thiB wilderness, for
which our punishment has been so great.'

* Nay,' replied Mr. Howard, * Isaiah could not pre-
dict what had already occurred many centuries , before.

* If ye he willing anAobedient, ye shall eat the good of
the land ; but if ye (tefibse, ye shall be devoured wjth
the sword, for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it."

* Yes,' exclaimipd.Miriam, * by the sword was Mas-

"^'^.-^../.n

MIRIAM. 9<^

siah to cdnquer his enemies f as it is elsewhere said^

* Then shall the Lord go forth and fight against the na-
tions, as when he fought in the day of hattle ; ' and it is
also declared, that * the Lord is a man of war.' Now,
the man Christ never used the sword.'

* These texts,' replied Mr. Howard, * compared with
their contexts, will he found to bear a spiritual mean-
ing. The first promise of a Messiah was, that He
should bruise the serpent's (or devil's) head ; the most
important and only conquest which could ensure eter-
nal happiness, and man's restoration to holiness.
Thus, Satan, sin, the world, and death, are especially
those enemies which we need most fear, and which
Messiah was to subdue. It is with these deadly ene-
mies of our souls, Miss Durvan, that the Messiah daily
fights and conquers, and will conquer until all enemies
are put under his feet.' Thousands of believing- Chris-
tians have been, and, thanks be to God, tens of thou-
sands mZZ ^e, delivered from their enemies by those

* weapons which are not carnal, but mighty through
God,' and will become * willing subjects in the day of
his power.' Yes ! the Lord indeed destroys, not with
the sword, but by his word, for the * breath of his lips
shall slay the .wicked,' and * the word of God is a two-*
edged sword ;' and hath not his vengeance too surely
followed you from fhe destruction of your temple even
until now, although no earthly sword it unsheathed
against you ? '

« A very proof,' iexclaime^ Miriam,' * that Messiah
is not yet come else would ouriemple be restored ac-
cording to the promise given in the covenant sworn to
our fathers, and who shall dare say that the word of
Jehovah can fail 1 '

• You appear to me,' replied Mr. Howard, * to con-,
found the first with the second coining Of Messiah, in
the same way that you do thd temporal with the
spiritual promises of God towards -you, and in these
errors I believe many of you dificultie? to arise. God,

»>»

\^.

\H MIRIAM.

who foresaw the pbstinacy of his people, in reme'm-
bmnce of the covenant sworn to Abraham, mercifullv
remedied the evil which justice would have otherwise
required, of the total annihilation of Israel, by preser-
ving a remnant of Judah, in whom his promises might
be accomplished. On the coming of Messiah, oblation
and sacrifice, which were required in the first or Si-
nai's covenant, were to cease ; a prediction so wonder-
fully accomplished since the coming of Jesus Christ,
that it is the most powerful evidence of his being the
Messiah, which we can offer to a Jew, who will not re-
ceive the testimony of our Scriptures. The first was
established as a type of the second or everlasting cove-
nant.' It consisted of circumcision, fasts, oblations, and
sacrifices ; all typical of the one oblation and sacrifice,
ofiered by the blood of the Redeemer, and stood be-
twixt Jehovah and his people, as a seal of promise on
the one side, and of faith on the other. But in the
fulfilment of this promise types were no longer ne-
cessary. The shadow was lost in substance, the cere-
monial law was abolished, sacrifices ceased, and the
new or everlasting covenant was eternally established ;
no more of works.hwi in the circumcision of the heart,
by which all may be brought to repentance through
the ' mediator of the new covenant,' in whom was to
be ' accomplished the iniquity ' of all mankind, who
would humble their hearts to receive him. The ritual
law indeed contained ' mercy and grace ' to Israel, but
on the personal coming of the Messiah, and after his
crucifixion, this was virtually abrogated, and the ato-
ning blood of Christ, which sealed the salvation of
mankind, replaced and abolished those outward ordi-
nances by Avhich reconciliation was before offered to
every faithful Israelite. If Jesus then be not this * new
covenant,' how did his coming so immediately abolish
the old or ritual law?- and to what do you now trust
for acceptance and forgiveness, since your means of

; 1

9 t'

MIRIAM. 95

atpiiement are destroyed, and that sacrifices of blood
avail you nothing? '

' To our obedience to the laws of God, proudly
replied Miriam, ' so far as we are enabled to fulfil
them, which is all that He requires of us in our pre-
sent state. It is true our temple is a ruin, and our
altars are destroyed ; but we can, and do still, offer
th6 sacrifices of oblations, fasts, and prayers, as com-
manded by the law of Moses. For thus saith the
Lord, by Ezekiel, * Although I have cast them far ofT
among the heathen, and though I have scattered them
among the countries, yet will I be to them a little
sanctuary in the countries where they shall come ;' and
' the sacrifices of God,' saith David, ' are a broken spi-
rit and a contrite heart.' Thus then, on our yearly
day of atonement, do we enter our ' little sanctuary,'
there to fast, to pray, to mourn, and to receive forgive-
ness of our sins. Do you suppose then,' added she,
tears filling her eyes, ' that these are not accepted of
the Lord ? '

* I dare not judge but by the righteous words of
him to whom judgement and salvation belong,' solemn-
ly replied Mr. Howard. * By the mouth of Isaiah, the
Lord hath said, ' Bring no more vain oblations ; in-
cense is an abomination unto me. Your new moons,
and your appointed feasts, my soul halcth, they are a
trouble to me ; I am w«ary to bear them and when
ye spread forth your hands, I will hide mine eyes from
you ; yea, when ye make many prayers I will not
near. Your hands are full of blood.' O Miss Dur-
van ! whose blood here demandeth vengeance ? Not
the innocent blood of goats or rams, for this was ex-
pressly appointed to be offered. A better covenant
than tnis then must ensure your acceptance ; and this
covenant was Jesus Christ. He alone is the accepta-
ble sacrifice, and in him alone can be remission of
sins.'

Miriam was silent, and Mr, Howard after a few mo-

.■^{\

96 MIRIAM.

merits' pause, finding that she made no reply,
ed — * The * little sanctuarv ' was always in rei

conlinu-
sanctuary ' was always in reference to
those places of worship where atoning sacrifices were
appointed to be offered, and were doubtless sanctified to
those few pious, humble Jews, who there worshipped
the Lord insincerity. But since the coming of Messi-
ah, we cannot possibly believe that any worship is ac-
cepted from any — whether Jew or Gentile — who reject
the substance of those types. We acknowledge in-
deed that a contrite spirit and a broken heart, mourn-
ing for sins, and longing for salvation in Christ, are
spiritual sacrifices^ most acceptable to God ; but let
me ask you, are these appointed by Moses in the days
of atonement, and ofiered in obedience to the ceremoni-
al law?'

* No,' replied Miriam, ' but they are substitutes of
those ceremonial sacrifices which are not in our power
to offer. All we can, we do.'

' True,' said Mr. Howard, * but this is the very
thing we maintain ; that God, in proof that the ritual
law is abolished, has rendered the observance of it, in
all its essential requirements, impossible* Some parts
of it indeed may be performed by Jews in their disper-
sion, but take away the sanctuary, priesthood^ and sac-
rifices of innocent blood, which form the very centre
of the law, and the rest must appear but the fragments
of a fabric, once beautifully perfect as a type, but now,
irrecoverably destroyed and superceded by that new
and everlastmg covenant, sealed oy the blood of Jesus
Christ the Messiah, our great high-priest.'

' You consider Jesus to have been a greater prophet
than Moses, I believe,' said Miriam, unable to refute
the arguments of Mr. Howard, otherwise than by
raising what she conceived to be difiiculties, * and yet
the Lord declared in Deuteronomy, ' And there arose
not a prophet since in Israel like unto Moses.' '

* Whether that chapter in Deuteronomy were written
by Joshua, or some othet prophet, previous to the cap-

MIRIAM. 97

tivity, or subsequently, by Ezra/ replied Mr. Howard,
' the writer simply stated the fact, that at that time
there had hot arisen * a prophet in Israel like unto Mo-
ses ; ' but so far from asserting that there never should
arise such a one again, the Lord himself declared, * I
will raise them up a prophet from among their breth-
ren like unto thee, (alluding to Moses,) and I will put
my words in his mouth, and it shall come to pass, that
whosoever will not hearken unto my words which he
shall speak in my name, / will require it of him.'
This prophecy can refer to no other than Messiah, and
if ^ou compare the works and^miracles of Jesus Christ,
during his ministry on earth, with those of Moses, you
cannot but trace the resemblance, and own that a great-
er than Mosee is here, inasmuch as that Christ wrought
wonders in his own name, Moses only in the name of
God. But as Christ says, * Do not think that I will
accuse you to the father ; there is one that accuses you,
even Moses in whom ye trust, for he wrote of me ;
but if ye believe not his writings, how can ye believe
my words ? "

* I beg to argue only from the Old Testament,*
said Miriam, * xmtil you can better prove to me the
coincidence of the two. The Lord also said in con-
tinuation of the text you have quoted, ' The prophet
that shall presume to speak a word in my name which
I have not commanded him to speak, even that prophet
shall die.^ Was not tl^p man Christ put to death, be-
cause he presumf>tuously made himself the Son of
God?'

Mr. Howard taking uj3 the text, continued, *If
thou say in thine heart, how shall we know the word
which the Lord hath not spoken ? When a prophet
speaketh in the name of the Lord, if the thvng follow
Twt, nor come to pass, that is the thing which the
Lord hath not spoken.' Now tell me, Miss Durvan, a
single instance wherein the words of Christ failed \xk

98 XIRIAX.

their accomplishment, and that very moment will I
yield all further argument against you.'

' I repeat,' said Miriam, 'that the true Messiah was
not' to see death, and yet Jesus was slain as a malefac-
tor by thousands, who would surely not all have con-
nived with one voice against him, had he not proved an
impostor.'

* His death and sufferings, the cruelty and injustice
of his enemies,' replied Mr. Howard, * is the very fulfil-
ment of that stupendous design of redemption which
is the sum of all the prophjocies, and which must ever
stand as the most Undeniaole evidence that Jesus was
in truth the Messiah. JBut how do you translate the
prophecy of Zechariah, * Awake, O sword, against the
man that is my fellow, saith the Lord of Hosts. Smiit
my shepherd, and the sheep shall be scattered.' This
certainly implies death and violence against the Messi-
ah, who is alone the fellow of Jehovah.'

* No,' said Miriam, * we interpret that text as allegor-
ically alluding to Israel the beloved, or fellow of Je-
hovah. Israel was smitten^ and the Israelites are scat-
tered.'

* And to what does the whole of the fifty-third chap-
ter of Isaiah relate ? '

* To Israel, and not to any individual,' replied Mir-
iam ; * and how often does Jehovah thus exemplify as
one person his elected city.'

* I grant it,' said Mr. Howard^ * but in this instance,
the whole bearing of the prophecy Would be contradic-
tory and irrational, for you must then render the eighth
verse thus translated, * Israel was cut off out of the
land of the living ; for the transgressions of my people
(Israel) was Israel stricken.' '

* Certainly,' replied Miriam, • for the transgressions
of Israel, Israel has been and still is stricken.'

* And according to your own interpretation of the
latter clause,' said Mr. Howard, * Israel was * cut off
out of the land of the living ! * In which case, how do '
you look for its restoration % *

MIRIAM. 99

Miriam deeply ^colored, but soon recovering herself,
said, * We always understand that expression in the .
text as figurative of the degredation of Israel * cut off
from its glory, to be a shame and reproach in the land
of the living.*

* It appears to me,' said Mr. Howard mildly, * that
it is trifling with the word of God, thus to give figura-
tive meanings to any sentence or prophecy so obviously
conveying a simple truth. No, Miss Durvan, the text,
wherever it occurs, can bear but one allusion to the
Messiah, * the Prince who was to be cut off but not
for himself,* and infers, without a doubt, the infliction
of a violent death? Here Mr. Howard gave Miriam
a Hebrew Bible requesting her to compare, in the orig-
inal tongue, this with similar passages in Genesis and
Exodus, which he said could scarcely be mistaken.
He then again referred to the fifty-third chapter of Isa-
iah, assuring her that a candid examination of that
prophecy, with the events recorded in the New Testa-
ment, would clearly prove to her the exact and won-
derful coincidence of the latter with the former.
. * But if the Messiah died,' said Miriam, ' how can
you reconcile the assertion of David, * Thou wilt not
suflfer thine Holy One to see corruption ? * for you will
surely allow that corruption is a necessary consequence
of death.'

' By his resurrection ere his body could know putri-
faction, which Messiah himself predicted by the mouth
of David, * My flesh also shall rest in hope. For
thou wilt not leave my soul in hell, neither wilt thou
sufler thine Holy One to see corruption.' Here the
person speaking evidently considers himself about to
die and be buried, * My flesh shall rest i»hope,' he fore-
saw ' that his body would become a corpse, but should
not see corruption. His soul was doubtless to go into
Hades, the unseen world, else he would not have said,
* Thou wilt not leave my soul in hell,' all which unde-
niably proved that death, without corruption, must pre-

- V . ^

100 MIRIASI.

cede his ascension, and terminate his heavenly mis-
. sidn, after which, * All was finished.'^ The sixty-ninth
psalm is another prophecy of the Messiah, wonderful-
ly fulfilled in JesuSjOf Nazareth, * Reproach hath bro-
ken my heart, and I am full of heaviness, and I looked
for some to take pity, but there was none.' * They
f« gave me also gall to eat, and when I was thirsty they

gave me vinegar to drink ; ' and again in Isaiah, • I
gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to them
that plucked off the hair ; I hid not my face from
shame and spitting.* Compare this with the history
of the death of Christ, written and attested by Jews,
who found not one single witness to refute what, if the
history had not been faithfully related, thousands would
gladly have done.'

'Much of the prophecy might be easily fulfilled by
any one well acquainted with its predictions,' replied
Miriam, ' who like Jesus could so impose upon others,
maintain his assumed character even in his sufferings ;
' i thus I conceive could he give his * cheek to the smiters,'
and offer his face lo • shame and spitting,' as well as
enter Jerusalem upon the foal of an ass, amidst the
hallelujahs of his own proselytes.'

' Yes, Miss Durvan, and his enemies parted his gar*
ments among them, and cast lots for his vesture, anc
when he said, ' I thirst ' they gave him vinegar tc
drink — the sun was turned to darkness, and the moon
into blood — the veil of the temple was rent in twain—
the earth shook — the graves opened, and they which
looked upon these fearful signs, trembled and exclaim-
ed, ' Truly, this was the Son of God ! ' All, all to
assist an imposture, and to deny the predictions of our
omniscient, omnipotent Jehovah ! O Miss Durvan 1
for your soul's sake, do you now aid the accomplish-
ment of mercy towards the remnant of God's people,
and ,with a penitent heart * look on him whom you
have pierced,' so shall a daughter of Zion rejoice anc
be glad in Jesus her king ; your sins though they be

MIRTAM. JOl

scarlet, shall be white as snow, though crimson, shall
be like wool I for the Lord thy God in the midst of
thee is mighty. He will save, He will rejoice over
thee with joy, He will rejoice over thee with singing.'
Can you longer reject such an appeal of love, and har-
den your heart against the tender compassion of Him,
who thus for the restoration of Israel, for the redemp-
tion of all mankind, poured out his soul unto death ;
who bore our griefs and carried our sorrows ! Who
was bruised for our iniquities,* and bore upon himself
the chastisement of our peace; who died the just for
the unjust, and now liveth for ever to make intercession
for transgressors.

Miriam turned pale and trembled, but made no reply.
The subject, which had hitherto been one of boasting,
now became one of fearfulness and terror ; yet she was
not convinced, and after a few moment's pause, she, ex-
claimed, clasping her hands before her eyes, ' O God !
if indeed these things be so, enable me to see them, or
fitrenofthen me to overcome this weak and fearful doubt-

ing.'

* Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith the Lord ! *
exclaimed Mr. Howard, seeing Miriam now bathed in
tears. * Yes, Miss Durvan, thank God it is my mission
to speak comfortably to Jerusalem, and I doubt not,
but that great mercy is mtended you, if ye will but
listen to the glad tidings of salvation proclaimed in the
gospel of Jesus our Redeemer.' He then devoutly
knelt down, and prayed for some moments that he
might have grace lo counsel and aid the work of in-
quiry which was thus begun in the heart of the young
Israelite, and that she might receive with meekness the
engrafted word to the saving of her immortal soul.
Mrs. Stuart and Helen united fervently their 'Amen'
to this good hope, and again rising from their knees,
they endeavored cheerfully to encourage Miriam, with-
out appearing to suppose her vanquished. None
of the party, however, felt disposed to enter on any in-

102 MIRIAM.

different conversation, and Miriam pleading the late-
ness of the hour, proposed to return home, desiring
Corah to replace the Talmud in its case. She blushed
as she did so, and looked at Mr. Howard, for that book
had been useless to her, and she could not but feel how
greatly the advantage had been against its boasted pow-
er. But Mr. Howard, too delicate to triumph over his
opponent, returned no look of victory. He gave his
hand at parting, and blessed her with that mild benig-
nity of Christian love| which, when offered to a gener-
ous mind must soften, if not reconcile, the distinction,
which alas ! separates the Gentile from the Jew 1*

CHAPTER VI.

The appearance of a post-chaise in a village like
Glencairn, where few of the luxuries of life were com- '
mon, attracted general curiosity, and little Jessie, di-
verted from her industry by the shouts of children now
assembling in groups to watch the destination of so un-
usual a visitant, was about to summon her mother to
the scene, when the carriage suddenly drawing up to
her own garden gate, soon changed her surprise to de*
light. Throwing down her work, and all that stood
• between herself and the door, she loudly exclaimed,

♦ The author is indebted for much of the argument in this
chapter to the Rev. J. Scott's admirable* refutation of Rabbi
CrooFs * Restoration of Israel.'

MIRIAM. 103

* O, mother ! Helen ! here is Edith, our own dear
Edith ! ' and eagerly ran forward to be the first to wel-
come the alien to her home. Her joy was, however,
somewhat damped by the sight of an elderly stranger,
who had alighted from the chaise, and was arguing
with the postillion in no very gentle accents, on the im-^
position of over-rating his time and trouble. Jessie
now saw no other traveller. Was it then an apparition
which for a moment had bore the semblance of Edith
to deceive her? but she had no time to solve the enig-
' ma, ere her mother and Helen, alarmed by her excla-
mations, hurried down to inquire what they meant.
No Edith, indeed, met their eye, but Mrs. Stuart, ever
alive to anxious forebodings, turned pale, although she
struggled to repress the emotion by which her heart
was agitated, and was about to hasten forward to the
travellers, when a female springing from the carriage,
too surely realised the mother's fears, for Edith, pale,
trembling, and disparing, rushed wildly past her into
the arms of the terrified Helen ; but suddenly disen-
gaged herself, and clinging only to Jessie, she exclaim-
ed, • O no, not you, Helen, for I shall break your heart I '
And after a moment's struggle, in which she was op-
pressed almost to choking, she calmly added, looking
timidly around her, * And yet why should I be afraid,
for I haye done nothing to shame you and the heart
must be weak indeed which could not bear the woes,
even of such a day as this, for one that it loves.' The
last word feiintly died upon her lips, and falling ex-
hausted on a chair, her high spirit again gave way,
and she piteously exclaimed, * O mother, dearest moth-
er ! speak to me, I implore you, for I can bear any
thing but this dreadful silence. I will hide my face
forever, if you will only spare me npw, an4 tell me
that you forgive me, for I am dying ! Yes, toy heart
must break.' Helen and Jessie now supported the
afflicted girl, who sunk in this last efibrt, insensible to
the sorrow she both suffered and inflicted. Mrs. Stu-

104 MIRIAM.

art stood motionless by her side, for in all the anguish
which death, and poverty, and care, had alternately
mingled in her varied life, never, never had she tasted
a bitterness like unto the bitterness of that hour ;
while ten thousand frightful apprehensions filled her
mind with a dreadful uncertainty as to what might
now lay before her.

The stranger had not immediately entered the cot-
tage, for his kind heart felt averse to witness a scene
where he knew even sympathy could offer no relief;
"^^but now he joined the afflicted family, as if he would
fain divert them from the hapless object of anxiety and
sorrow. His presence, indeed, once more roused the
widow to exertion, as with a look, of unutterable woe,
she exclaimed, ' Whoever you are, sir, tell me, I be-
seech you, what all this means ? and why is my poor
child come back thus stricken to her home? God
knows how earnestly I wish she had never, never left
it!'

He to whom she thus appealed, although uncouth in
manners and appearance, had a heart peculiarly alive
to the sorrows of his fellow creatures, and on his rough
countenance was now betrayed the feelings which he
in vain endeavored to repress, while pacing the room,
he assumed an air of impatience at distress,' which he
felt was beyond his power to ameliorate. ' Well,
well,' said he, 'you have her now safe enough, and
you may thank God for it ! She has only the fault of
a pretty face, and that has led many a one farther
astray than she has gone, so take the poor creature to
your heart again, for I warrant you, hers is sore and
sorry enough, and may be sorer yet, if she will be
foolish enough, to fret for a villain.' The old man
here wiped off* the tear which trembled his eye, as if
ashamed of the pang which had called it there, but it
was one of deeper agony than that of sympathy, and
he would fain harden his heart against the yearnings of
kindred tenderness which might have wished justice

MIRIAM. 105

less severe. * Aye,' added he, recovering himself, and
calmly sitting down, 'you may well bless God, Mts.
Stuart, that the poor child there is only broken hearted ;
and the more fool she, for I wish with all my soul she
grieved for one as innocent as herself : then might my
grayhairs go down to the grave as honored as your
own. O ! ' continued he, again overcome by the bit-
terness of shame, * if ye knew what it was to have a
base and heartless c^ild, you v^rould not grieve so sore-
ly oyer a silly one.*

Mrs. Stuart thus relieved, clasping her hands, ex-
claimed, * O ! if indeed my child is safe from wilful
sin, I shall all my life bless God for it although weak
must be my poor praises to- render him his due for such
great mercy. But where is Lady Beauford ? What is
your name, and why have you brought Edith home ? '

* Lady Beauford !' exclaimed the stranger, * I know
nothing of your great people, excepting that they turn
the heads of all young ones to the ruin and misery of
every honest father, who has not a coronet to clap upon
a boy's head ; and as to my name you will hear that
time enough, for the last dying speech of Edward For-
rester will soon be in the mouth of every beggar,
though God grant that my funeral prayer may be over
first.'

A faint groan from Edith for a moment occupied
every thought, but that of pity for herself, when Mr.
Forrester, rising and endeavoring to assume compo-
.sure, added, * Well, we must all say God's will be
done ! So take that poor child to bed, for she needs
rest and comfort, though she is happier now, than when
sense and memory come back ; and I'll go and see if
that fellow of a driver has taken as good care of his
horse as he does ot himself.' So saying, the kind-
hearted man left the sufferers without further apology,
but returning in a moment, he said, alternately looking
on the lifeless Edith and her family with a countenance
of the most benign compassion, * Aye, take that poor

106 MIRIAM.

unhappy girl to bed, and be kind to her, for we are all
weak and sinful in our way, and would be badly off if
God were as slow to forgive us our sins, as we are to
forgive the frailties of our children, because they bruise
our proud hearts. I shall send the doctor to her, and
let her have wine or any thing else that can do her
good, for I have money enough to pay for it all ; &nd
mind me, lady, ask her no questions, for it is cruel to
probe a wound which can't be healed. Til be back
again to ye by and by, and will tell you all that you
need know, and remember if there is any thing to be
done, in which a fellow-creature can assist or comfort
you, send for George Forrester, and you'll not find
nis old heart backward to serve you.' He theA left the
cottage, and if indeed any thing earthly could have
comforted the afflicted mother, it was the assurance
that in him at least Edith had met a kind and generous
friend.

Mrs. Stuart relieved from a dreadful suspicion, had
taken her child to her bosom, and still sat supporting
her endeavoring, by every tender appeal, to rouse her
senseless mind to a conviction of pardon and security,
while Helen, in her silent agony, affectionately bathed
her cold cheek, patiently enduring }ier own share of the
trial for the SE^ke of those who now so largely needed
her fortitude and forbearance. But Jessie sobbed in
unrestrained violence, nor did any one attempt to check
her tears ; neither was a word of comfort spoken, for
the cup of sorrow seemed full to overflowing, and the
sufferers knew not how to lessen it. Edith alone was
dead to the agony around her, till with reviving anima-
tion came back a dreadful sense of over hanging evil,
and soon changed her insensibility to wild delirium, in
which her incoherent terror betrayed the secret source
of all her misery. In this state she was removed to
bed, but not until violent remedies had been ^ applied,
did she evince signs of returning reason, and then,
overcome with weakness, fatigue, and anxiety, she fell

i ,

MIRIAM. 107

into a feverish sleep, which, unrefreshing" as it might
be, was watched as a harbinger of mental restoration.
Mrs. Stuart then left her to the care of Helen, and
anxious to receive the promised communications of Mr.
Forrester, she again joined him, and heard those cir-
cumstances which had placed Edith under his protec-
tion. But to avoid the tediousness of a * twice told tale,'
we will omit the narration of Mr. Forrester, and offer
the melancholy detail of Edith's life, from the period
in which her folly first led to the errors of deceit and
every subsequent evil.

Lady Beauford, from a natural indolence, together
with— -perhaps — an amiable aversion to any thing like
severity or reprehension, seldom attempted to control
the waywardness of youth ; consequently, her indul-
gence, both to her daughter and Edith, often amounted
to a vveak and sinful yielding of right principle, till at
length her authority became altogether disregarded,
and her advice useless. She indeed duly endeavored
to warn them against those dangers to which the young
and unsuspecting must be exposed in a world, where
sin, disguised in the sweetest semblance of pleasure,
seeks to destroythesimplicity.of every virtuous feeling.
But the precept failing to impart conviction, her con-
science was satisfied in the effort made to do so, and
generally closing her gentle admonitions by the sage
prediction, that * if young people would go their own
way they must abide by the consequences,' she left ex-
perience to teach the lesson more effectually/ than her
kind admonitions had done. Had her daughter been
less amiable, this mistaken- mode of education must
have been fatal to every good principle, which in early
childhood she had imbibed from an excellent and judi-
cious father, but her good sense preserved her from
this, and a generous heart taught her to appreciate a
mother's indulgence without despising its weakness,
or abusing the liberty it gave her. But to a proud and
»df-willed girl like Edith, no situation could be more

108 " MIRIAM.

dangerous or fatal. Her affectionate vivacity won upon
the tenderness of Lady Beauford, and evaded even the
censure which sometimes would have checked her
thoughtless gaiety ; while her beauty attracting uni-
versal admiration, exposed her to that indiscriminate
flattery which, alas!, has power to poison even a
stronger mind than hers. She had shared with Miss
Beauford the advantages of many excellent masters,
but, too unsteady to avail herself of their instructions,
she had gained little beyond a superficial knowledge,
and seemed to think that elegance of dress, and re-
finement of manners, would compensate for the want of
mental acquirements. With these feelings, poor Edith
soon forgot that she had a soul to discipline and pre-
pare for another world. She lived alone for the false
pleasures of this, and when reminded of a better by
the pious admonitions of her mother and sisters, her
sickly mind turned from the awful picture of eternity
till she tried to believe religion a prejudice, and the
Almighty a being whom to acknowledge, without serv-
ing, was enough.

It would be tedious to repeat the many evils to
which this loss of principle exposed her ; and how, by
degrees deceit, falsehood, and vanity influenced her
conduct. She lived 'without God' in the world, and
every good feeling necessarily became a wreck ; for
where is the potency of mere moral virtue to subdue
the passions of the human heart ? The appeals of that
* still small voice' which speaks in every bosom was
unheeded, and Edith followed only the dictates of her
own ungoverned will, until remorse humbled that will,
and taught her to feel the necessity of a better sfuide.
Her education completed, she was inhiated in all the
gaieties of a London life, and in the midst of its plea-
sures she almost forgot the ties which still bound her to
an humbler sphere, till she ceased to feel pleasure in
her intercourse with home, and gladly found excuses
to neglect it.

MIglAM. " 109

In fashionable society, where friends, or rather ac-
quaintances, are received not chosen, the circle must
be formed of very indiscriminate, if not uncertain cha-
racters : and it too frequently occurs, that those are most
appreciated who can bring the recommendations of
talent, wit, or wealth. Among the many who now visit-
ed Lady Beauford was Edward Forrester, a young man
whom no one knew but every body liked He was
pleasing in person, and witty* in conversation ; and
these qualifications, rendered him a desirable compan-
ion wherever such a one was wanted, either to trifle
away time, to make up the number in a dance, or as an
escort where ladies could not go without one. He had,
on the death of his parents, been adopted by his uncle
Mr. Forrester, who loved and cherished him as his own
son, and who had placed him in a respectable mercan-
tile house under the hope of fitting him for his own
successor. But wild, profligate, and extravagant, Ed-
ward soon grew weary of the restraint of such an of-
fice, and found means gradually to extricate himself
from the toil of business, by associating with gamblers,
amongst whom, for a time, he was too successful to
heed the warnings and advice of his employers. He
was introduced into society, professed himself to be
what he was not, and was received as many young
men are, who have a handsome person and gentleman-
ly manners to recommend them. *

Unhappily poor Edith became the victim of his ar-
tifices. He really loved her, but conscious that his
own situation in life was too precarious to enable
him openly to own such an attachment without a cer-
tain repulse from her family, he secretly engaged her '
affections, deceiving her with the pretence of great ex-
pectations, and won her young heart to believe that
their future welfare depended on present caution and
disguise. Edith was not at first quite so deaf to the
appeals of conscience, as to listen without repugnance
to an avowal so fraught with danger ; but alas \ the

tlO MIRIAM.

first step of error often leads to a labyrinth of guilt.
She had lost the only helm which can safely guide the
soul, and every other was too weak to preserve her in
the path of honor : so she listened till she believed,
and at length yielded to the intre»ities of her lover in
engaging herself with the promise of concealing his
proposals until he should leave her at liberty to avow
them.

It would scarcely be^ possible to detail the endless
deceptions to which this engagement exposed the un-
happy girl ; but too much blinded by her ill-placed
affection to see the depth of sin into which she plung-
ed, every day only the more familiarised her to its con-
sequences, until she lost all shame of falsehood, evad-
ing by every species of deceit both the anxious scruti-
ny of her young companions, and the. curiosity of
Lady Beauford.

Some months had elapsed of this uncertain misery,
and Edith was no longer the gay and sprightly being
who had before won the love or envy of all who saw
her. Her spirits sank beneath the pressure of anxiety,
and wearied by the repeated, but fruitless, promises of
her lover, she began to feel the precariousness of her
situation, and to dread the issue of hope so long delay-
ed. In this state of mind, she was one morning n^di-
tating on her uncertain prospects, and perhaps looking
back on the scenes of her happy childhood, with a
wish that she had never exchanged them for the world ;
when young Forrester unexpectedly entered the room
and assuming an air of peculiar cheerfulness, tenderly
reproached her for thus yielding to despondency, ada-
ing, that she might now dry her tears, for the power
was hers to be for ever happy, if she would only con-
sent to unite her destiny with his own without loss of
time. Edith looked at him with surprise, as she timid-
ly asked the meaning of this sudden proposal, for
with all his professions of love and promises of hap-
piness, there was a mysterious confusion in his man-

MipUM. lit

ner which alarmed her. His voice trembled, his cheeks
were flushed, and though he laughed at all her fears,
his whole countenance betrayed such an uneasiness of
mind, that she could not forbear expressing her sur-
prise that he should be thus agitated, if he had no evil
tidings to communicate. He impatiently upbraided
her for so mistrusting him, but suddenly checking him-
self, as if afraid of betraying his real feelings, he took
her hand, and artfully endeavoring to calm her> said,
• I have lately been too little accustomed to joy, my
Edith, to bear it well ; but no time must be lost this
day in idle fears. This very evening you must be
mine; every thing is prepared for our leaving London,
and once lawfully united, no power on earth can again
separate us.'

Edith turned pale as she exclaimed, * Tell me, I be-
seech you, Edward, what you mean. How can we be
married this day, and why this urgent haste ? ' For-
rester arose, and giving her a letter, averted his eyes
from hers, for he dared not meet an inquiry, even from'
her confiding countenance ; while she, too eager to pe-
ruse what she supposed might influence her fete, saw
not the dreadful expression of conscious guilt which
darkened the brow of Edward as he now paced the
room. The packet was addressed to him, and bore
the signature of his uncle, containing a draft to a con-
siderable amount, accompanied by a request that he
would immediately repair to America, with a commis-
sion of too much importance to be intrusted to a less
faithful emissary. The enclosed sum of money was
offered as a compensation, with a promise of continued
supplies ; the whole concluding with an affectionate
fere well. Edith's unsuspecting heart seized only on
the prospect thus apparently opened to them both of
competence and liberty, and. clasping her hands, her
beauti^l countenance beaming with delight, she ex-
claimed, * Then I may now tell Lady Beauford; and
Lucy, and all of them, how much we love each other.

112 MIRIAM.

Edward ! you know not half the wretchedness from
which, thank God, I am now released ; and never will

1 again consent to meet the miseries of concealment.
But surely we need not go this very day ? '

• This very day or never,' impatiently replied EtJ'
ward ; * and mark me, Edith, no human being mast
know of our intended flight, until we are safely be-
yond the reach of our followers. My life ' — then im-
mediately recollecting himself, he added, * at least,
Edith, thesuccess and honor of my uncle's house de-
pends on the secrecy of the embassy. You know
nothing of business, and I have no time to explain the
mysteries in Which it is sometimes enveloped. One
day's delay may be of fatal consequence; prepare
then, dearest, to go with me, and this day over, I prom-
ise to relee^se you from all further disguise.'

* Your uncle's letter does not imply this ^necessity
for concealment,' said Edith, faintly, while for the first
time in her life, she looked reproachfully on^er lover,
and fixed a countenance of such suspicious scrutiny on
his, that he turned unmanned from her steady gaze.
Soon recovering himself, however, he replied, ' Edith,
my love, do you suppose I would thus urge a step so
repugnant to your feelings, did not necessity compel it?
To-day, I, at least, must bid farewell to England, or by
refusing to do so, forever forfeit the favor of my uncle,
become a beggar, and yield all chance of our long-
promised union. Yes, Edith ! this ruin is and shall
be the alternative, if you will not yield to my entrea-
ties, for I cannot leave you. No; I will ,J)eg my
bread, bear infamy, shame, poverty, any thing but to
go an exile from her whom I love above all - earthly
gain. O Edith ! if you lovied me as you have some-
times told me that you did, you would not be a coward
now — refuse to share the perils of one day, and relin-
quish the happiness which wealth and devoted alTection
offer you. But what a vision was my faith in love so
light as yours ! ^

MIRUM. 113

• O Edward I ' meekly replied the trembling Edith,
• do I deserve this cruel reproach, because I shrink-
not from perils, for gladly would I meet all danger for
you — but from the shame of secretly leaving home and
mends, whose confidence I have, for your sake, already
too justly lost. * No! it will break my poor mother's
heart ! I cannot, dare not go. Leave me then, Edward,
and forget me ; you will soon find one more worthy of
your love, and though ill can I bear it from you, I de-
serve every reproach, for I have forgotten God, and
yielded my very soul to falsehood and to you.'

She could speak no more, and covering her face with
both her hands, she longed to find relief in tears, but
her full heart refused to shed them. Edward could
not withstand grief so exbressive of mingled tenderness
and remorse, but taking her hand, was about to confess
his situation and to yield the dreadful alternative to
which it had tempted him, when the remembrance of
his difficulties recalled him to the necessity of an im-
mediate decision, and he had not courage to meet the
distress in which his imprudence had involved him.
So again he urged his cause with all the tenderness of
love, reproaching himself for the unkind words which
in the bitterness of his heart he had unwarily spoken,
until touched by his afiectionate appeal, the unhappy
Edith, half yielding to his entreaties, contradicted him
no more, but &intly asked upon what plea she could
leave Lady Beauford, if she might not reveal to her
their situation. Edward, who well knew the weak-
ness of woman's heart, hastily seized a moment so pro-
pitious, ta, himself, so fatal to his young victim, and
again pressing upon her feelings the danger of further
delay, appeared to suppose all opposition yielded, and
urged her to deceive Lady Beauford by a pretence of
a summons from home requiring her immediate de-
parture. He then entreated her to be ready for the
appointed hour that evening, and dreading the efifect of
a moment's reflection, he hastily took leave of her, re-

v/ -^

114 MIRIAM.

peating the most ardent protestations of happiness and
affection. Alas ! to what a dreadful length of guilt do
the feelings sometimes lead, which are not fortified by
principle and checked by a sense of that almighty pre-
sence which penetrates, not only an omniscient, but an
observing eye, into the deepest recesses of the soul.
And O how many pangs of remose, how many hours
of self-reproach, what days of agony, might be spared
to every one of us, if we would but practically * set the
Lord always before us ' in motive, thought, and feeling,
as well as in those outward actions which are exposed
to human scrutiny. We seem to think that God in
his majesty looks not on those ' small beginnings ' of
good or evil, which gradually and almost impercepti-
bly increasing, form the basis of our most important
actions. But it is an awful truth to those Who would
thus limit the power of infinite perfection ; that not one
thought escapes our bosoms, either unobserved or un-
recorded by him whose knowledge embraces all time
and space, and comprehends the inmost thoughts of
all mankind, and watches the niinutest varyings of
every soul, as if each one solely claimed his provi-
dence and attention.

Edith, again left to the solitude of her conscience,
looked fearfully for a moment at the precipice on which
she stood, and would have given empires to recall her
acquiescence to a proposal so fraught with shame and
deceit, or to have found strength to resist the dreadful
temptation : but the situation of her lover, and his pas-
sionate determination to meet ruin and bear its conse-
quences rather than leave her, overcame her better
feelings, and she converted the wholesome bitterness of
self-accusation to the dangerous opiate of self-excuse.
•There could be no great sin,' thought she, *ina
private marriage under such peculiar circumstances.
Thousands had married so before her and were not
thought the worse for it. She was old enough to he
hex own mistress, and her mother surely would soon

MIRIAM. 115

forgive her, when she saw her living respectably, the
happy wife of a rich merchant. It was far beyond what
could reasonably be expected, situated as she really was
in life; and as to Lady Beauford, she could have no
right to controle her or to interfere with her prospects.
In short, any thing was better than to make Edward
wretched, and perhaps driven to some desperate mea-
sure by unkindness, she would have to reproach herself
as the cause, and never know another happy moment.'
Thus deceiving herself, Edith sought Lady Beauford,
and told her that she had received an immediate sum-
mons home in consequence of the dangerous illness of
her sister. Lady Beauford seeing Edith pale and agi-
tated, expressed all the sympathy which her kind heart
really felt in the supposed, distress of her young friend
and immediately offered an old ?ind faithful servant to
accompany her part of the way, regretting that she was
prevented taking her under her own protection. Here
Edith was perplexed, knowing that the kindness of Lady
Beauford was not easily overruled, but alas! the human
heart is always a ready accomplice in sin, so she found
little difficulty in evading the threatened intrusion of a
third person, by saying, that Mr. Forrester, who had
brought her the unwelcome tidings, was commissioned
by her mother to convey her some miles on her journey
to a place where a female friend would meet and
take her safe home. Lady Beauford, who had long
been deceived by a belief that young Forrester was con-
nected with the Stuart family, (a pretext on which both
Edith and himself had artfully grounded their intimacy
^with each other,) saw nothing improbable in this ar-
rangement, but rather felt relieved on finding Edith was
to be so well attended. She had for some time past
observed with pain, that she was restless and unhappy,
and within her own mind suspected the truth, that her
heart was more interested in Edward Forrester than
she chose to avow ; and finding that her advice wa»
^disregarded, all her affectionate entreaties for confidence

116 MIRIAM.

evaded, and that in many respects Edith was no loftgef ]
a desirable companion for her daughter, she had re*
solved on the first favorable opportunity to part with
her, not only to free herself from the anxious resposi*
bility which such a charge had become, but because
she felt that a mother's vigilance and authority were
really necessary to control a character so dangerously
self-willed. With all the delicacy the occasion per-
mitted, she therefore candidly expressed her feelings to
Edith,^ and concluded by giving her the charge of an
explanatory letter which she had written to Mr. Stuart
to the same effect : Edith was of course little affected
by all this, although it served as a plea for the agitation
of mind which she vainly struggled to conceal. At
length the appointed hour of her departure came, and
with a guilt stricken heart did she bid farewell to friends,
whose affection she had so ill*deserved . This she felt,
and scarcely could she bear the last parting kindness
of her benefactress ; but Edward summoned her away,
and endeavoring to subdue all sense of shame and the
reproaches of conscience, she hastily obeyed him, and
gave herself up to his will and protection.

The fugitives pursued their journey with a rapidity
which, under less precarious circumstances, might have
alarmed an inexperienced traveller like Edith; but
dreading now only an untimely discovery, she thought
of no danger save that of being overtaken, while frdm
time to time she anxiously enquired how far they had
;. yet to go ere they reachea Liverpool, the place of des-
tination, where Edward told her a clergyman was ap-
pointed to unite them, and whence they were as soon
as possible to embark for America. But the feelings

■ of Forrester, although thrown into a different channel
©f alarm, too much resembled her own to soothe her

. . apprehension, .and while he bade her fear nothing, be-
^* {|ayed sa viuch herself, that she could not but incr^s-
^ i^iy dread the issue of their flight. In this anxious
';^te .bCpipjdthey silently travelled without rest or mo-

■ ■^. •»'■''■♦' '■- \

^ ■ X . ■■ ■''■ n

K- .'

MIRIAM. 117

lestation, until they reached Berrington, a small village
near Liverpool, where, being so near the close of their
journey, they began to look forward with brighter hopes!
Scarcely, however, had they alighted at the only inn
which the village afforded, to take some slight refresh-
ment, when two strangers, who had arrived a few mo-
ments previously, approached Edward, and slightly
touching his shoulder, produced a warant for his im-
mediate apprehension. The culprit turned deadly pale,
but offered no resistance, anxious if possible to evade
the curiosity of Edith, by quietly drawing the officers
to a private room, entreating them to spare him from
public disgrace, assuring them he would passively sub-
mit to his own fate, if they would only first allow him
to secure the safety of his young and unprotected com-
panion, and to communicate privately to her the sad
^ tidings of his arrest. But Edith was not to be deceived
by the plausible excuses by which Edward, when re-
turning to her, endeavored to remove her appijehisn-
aions ; she had observed his countenance on being
addressed by the stranger, which, corroborating the
suspicion excited by his frequent agitation during the
journey that something was concealed, now roused her
to the most dreadful sense of evil ; and wholly ignorant
of the crime of which he stood charged, she could only
in the consciousness of her own guilt accuse herself as
the cause of all his misery. Deaf to every persuasion,
and indifferent to the crowd she was attracting, she
rushed before the strangers and piteously enquired what
JEdward had done to deserve this detention, entreating
thg^t they might be left unmolested to pursue their jour-
ney.

The officer somewhnt touched by her distress, gently

, . Raised he^to a chair, and replied that he had no power

^ td grant her petition ; but that although he was under

^ the painful necessity of forcibly detaining Mr. ForrVsJer

, on a change of forgery, she was no way imp lfcat€jJ iri

:.'

V -

lis MIRIAM.

his mission, and therefore at liberty to go where she
pleased, without fear of molestation.

' Forgery ! it is a false and cruel charge,' exclaimed
Edith, looking fearfully at the unhappy prisoner, who
now sat before them, his hands clenched in agony on
his cold forehead. Edith seemed to await his own ex-
culpation, as in breathless terror she for a moment fixed
a look of anguish on his guilty countenance: but find-
ing he made no reply, she threw herself on her knees
before him, and exclaimed, ' O Edward, you accused
of forgery? No' I am sure it is all false: have pity
on me then, and only tell me you are guiltless of such
a charge, and I will bear any thing with or for you.
Speak only one word of comfort, I beseech you ! '

' For Heaven's sake, Edith, spare me ! ' said Ed-
ward, springing from her grasp, * leave me to my fate,
lor there is no hope of mercy.' Then suddenly chang-
ing his tone, and clasping her cold hands, he mourn-
fully exclaimed, * O my Edith, forgive the Avretch
who has so basefully deceived you ; and yet it was all
done in love to you, and could we have left England
before this dreadful hour, all might have been well !
Yes, dear Edith, you at least should have been hap-

* Happy ! ' said Edith, disentangling herself from his
embrace, and calmly rising, * I happy ! as the wife of
a forger ? the partner of guilt so disgraceful? but I do
not wonder you should think so, and yet, Edward, have
rdeserved this cruel, this unmanly deception ? '

Edward covered his face, and groaned in real agony
of soul, for he felt how justly he deserved reproaches
which still he could not bear under such accumulated
misery from her, whose sympathy alone, of all he loved
on earth, could have mitigated the thoughts of an igno-
minous end. 'Edith,' he exclaimed, ' did you know
the weight of sorrow and of guilt which must weigh
down my soul in death, you would have more pity thaa
thus so bitterly to scorn me ! but you do well, perhaps.

MIRIAM. H9

to remove the only boon for which I could cling to life,
that I may have nothing to regret, when on the scaffold
justice shall claim her dreadful revenge, and seal my
hopeless, everlasting doom ! When that has closed,
my Edith, you will, I know, forgive thfe wrongs and
ruin that I wrought you, and think only of the love
which ventured all for yours ! '

He said no more, for although he could thus talk of
death as if he were prepared to meet it manfully, there
was such an awful terror in its very name, that gladly
woul4 he now have hailed a hope of life, even with all
its present wretchedness, rather than meet the tribunal
of a just and angry God !

The elder officer interrupted the sufferers, reminding
them that their time was short, and their orders pe-
remptory to remove the culprit that night to Liverpool ;
but touched by the situation of Edith, he kindly offered
to procure her a female attendant to accompany her to
her friends, urging her immediately to return.

* Friends ! ' exclaimed Edith, with a look of despair,
* I have no friends, and whither should I go but to the
same prison where he must be 2 No, you shall not
part us, for the same scaffold shall ehd our mutual woes,
and pay alike the debt of all our sins.'

• Young woman,' mildly replied the stranger, * you
know not what you say. Return, unhappy girl, ta
your family, for we can do nothing for you. Our
warrant concerns Mr. Forrester alone, and we dare
not take you with him.' He then requested Edward
to be ready for departure in a few minutes, while
with a delicacy not always the attendant of such an
office, he desired his partner to guard the room from
the outside, and to offer no further interruption to the
prisoner until he again returned.

Thus left to themselves, the unhappy sufferers gazed
on each other, unable to give vent to the indescribable
anguish with which their hearts were overpowered ;
till Edward, at length roused to a sense of their mis&

120 MIRIAM.

rable situation, and the importanee of seizing the few
moments spared him, to expostulate with Edith on the
means she could now best adopt for her safety and
comfort, calmly but earnestly implored her to return
without dela;f to her mother, giving her at the same
time a pocket book, containing several notes of value,
for her present wants.

Edith shrieked, and covered her face with both her
hands, at the sight of a book where she had seen the
fetal draft with which he had deceived her, to the ruin
of both, and forgetting all but this, she renewed her
reproaches in a tone which wrung the very soul of the
unhappy culprit. * No, Edward,' said she, * base as
you think me, I will not touch one farthing of your
ill-gotten wealth. I can bear beggary, hunger, any
thing — ^but villany like this ! '

* Edith!' exclaimed Edward, patiently enduring
reproaches which he felt but too justly his due, • have
mercy on me, for death is easier to bear, than looks of
scorn from you ; and for the sake of our past love, re-
fuse not the last, the only boon I can ask of you on
this side eternity. Take this money, I beseech you,
and return to your home, if you would not add to the
many torments of a guilty conscience, the tenfold
agony of knowing you exposed to wretchedness and
want ; and, if you can, forget the wretch whose life
must soon pay the forfeit of all wrongs ! Now leave
me Edith ; and yet, let us not part in bitterness, for
you would forgive and pity me, did you know the
black and dreadful hopelessness of death to such a
soul as mine 1 '

' Death ! ' exclaimed Edith, again roused to all the
tenderness of woman's love, as Forrester thus recalled
the awful doom too surely awaiting him ; * what !
do they really mean to take your life ? No, they may
take you from me, and bid us never meet again, but
you shall not — ^must not die ! We must both live to
make our peace with God, for what would become oC

MIRIAM. 121

US, were we called to meet him now? O Edward,
how could you do a deed of such dreadful penalty ?
better to have starved together, than be as we now
are ! ' So saying, she arose, and throwing back her
hair, which had fallen over her flushed cheek, she
seemed to have received a sudden incitement to energy
beyond herself; while again tying on her bonnet, and
taking the money she had before so scornfully refused,
her whole mind appeared full of new and busy thought.
* Now, Edward,* said she, calmly, * let us lose no
time, but tell me quickly who can haVe power to save
your life. Your uncle will not, cannot refuse to pur-
chase that, cost him what it will. Tell me, then,
where I can find him, and on my knees I will implore
his mercy for you ! '

Edward, mournfully averting his eyes from her, as if
*to express the utter despair of his mind, replied * There
is no hope of mercy for me, my Edith, for he who
might indeed have saved me, is the very man whom
alone this deed has wronged. O rather, then, would
that I could hide it from him, for he will only come
and curse me on the very scaffold, and break his kind
heart, when he knows how deeply mine has sinned
against him ! And yet, I did not mean to wrong him,'
added Forrester, vainly trying to find an unction for
his hardened conscience, * for I only drew for that
which I knew was saved for me : he could not sufler
from its loss.'

* Deeply, indeed, have you sinned,' said Edith,
thoughtfully, scarcely heeding this coward plea, as the
whole truth now rushed into her mind, * That letter,
then and its contents, were false ! O Edward how
could you so deceive yourself and me? '

* Because those accursed gamblers, whose villany
wrought my fall, made me a ruined man, and I — I
forged that fatal bill to save myself from the shame and
ruin which my many creditors threatened. O ! could
we but have evaded these men of justice only one day

*^«

122 MIRIAM.

more, I had been safe, and you — but 'tis rain to think
of what might have been. Death is now inevitable
and God grant me strength to meet it like a man ! *

* This is but a poor and useless boon,' said Edith,
* for a dying soul to seek : but ah ! Edward, if I
thought that you could meet death like a Christian,
gladly would I walk this hour on your grave, and hail
the summons which might call you from a world like
this ! Yet I do not approach you, for I too have de-
serted God, and am now too justly left by him. Yes,
my poor Edward, I have done even worse than you.
I have scorned the pious precepts of a Christian mo-
ther, and laughed at the righteous warnings of my
sweet Helen — yet now — O what would I not give to
be the very being I have so often spurned and derided
— a child of God — a methodist — any thing to be bu^
safe within the fold of heaven.'

Edith had touched the spring from which flows the
tenderset feeling of natural affection. In one mo-
ment the home of her infancy seemed realised before
her, and she vainly wished that she could be a child
again to choose that * better inheritance' which in
childhood she had so fatally rejected. She clasped
her hands, and in the bitterness of self-reproach, she
now shed tears of such heartfelt penitence, that al-
though she could not utter one plea for mercy, He
who has pity upon all mankind, looked on her sorrow,
imparted strength and power to fulfil the painful du-
ties of that trying hour. Her heart, relieved by tears,
and strengthened with an inward conviction that God
would accept her desire of leaving the path of sin,
however feebly she could attempt it in herself, she
resolved to submit to the humiliating trial bf returning
to her mother, whatever sacrifice of selfish feeling it
might cost her, if she could but first secure the pardon
of him whose life was but too fatally linked with her
own happiness.

Her heart, indeed, failed her as now she gave her

MIRIAM. 123

hand to Edward, in token of entire forgiveness, for ill
could she bear to leave him perhaps for ever, at a mo-
ment in v^'hich he most needed the sympathy of human
kindness. ' God knows,' said she, ' how tenderly I
both love and pity you ; and if a woman's pleading can
save you, dearest Edward, you shall not die ? To your
uncle, then, this very hour will I go, and though he
may spurn me from his door, and tell me I have been
a curse to him and you, he will not refuse a boon on
which your precious life depends ; and if he be a
Christian, as the injured he will the more readily

forgive his injurers and spare the blood' Here

her voice faltered, and Edward turned so pale, that
she lost courage to, speak again of parting ; but sensi-
ble of the importance of immediate exertion, she
struggled to overcome the weakness of feeling, and
continued, * Now must we part, my Edward, but let
us hope a happier meeting will . be the issue of my
errand. Farewell, then — pray for yourself and me,
Edward, for remember that God is long-suffering, and
will hear you even now.' She then rushed towards
.the door, anxious at once to escape ere feeling could
again subdue her better resolutions, but alas! it yielded
not to her touch : it was bolted, and for the first time,
she felt that Edward was indeed a prisoner. Thus
unexpectedly repulsed, she tiniidly looked back", and
met the eyes of her lover fixed unconsciously upon
herself in an expression of such unspeakable anguish,
that she could bear no more, but sinking on a chair
beside him, she wept in the full bitterness ef a break-
ing heart. Edward at length was roused by the violence
of her sobbing to the reality of their situation, which
had seemed to him before like the delirium of some
frightful dream. * Edith ! ' he exclaimed, * why do you
not rather spurn the wretch who has brought you to
such woe as this ? better could I bear it all, than yout
generous and unequalled love. No, my noble minded
girl, you must not go to meet more misery for my sake.

124 MIRIAM'

It would only embitter my remaining days, and there
can be no mercy for me. Leave me then to the fet^
I too justly merit, for I can bear it, if you are but safe*
and will be comforted. And after alV added he, ei^-
deavoring to shake from his mind the terror with whid^
death hung over him, * to die is but the evil of a nio^
ment, and almost as soon will my name and my ciime^
be alike forgotten.*

Edith, still sobbing, shook her head, but was pre-^
vented replying by the bustle which warned theirs-
that their parting was now indeed at hand : * Onc^^
more,' said Edward, * I entreat you, Edith, to gc^
home, for useless must be the attempt tp save me^
and how could you, an unprotected girl, meet th(
perils and fatigue of such a long and anxious journey ?^
My uncle will only curse you, and all Carlisle be ready
to scorn or pity the hapless victim of a condemned
criminal.'

• If indeed,' said Edith, calmly, * he could do so to
a poor broken-hearted girl, pleading for another, not
herself, surely the curse would return to his own
bosom, and not fall on me. No Edward, I fear no-
thing for myself — but hark ! they are coming ;' then
looking towards the door, and suddenly taking the
prisoner's hand between her own, she nastily added,
* Farewell ! may God have pity on us both.'

The officers now entered, and required the imme-
diate attendance of Mr. Forrester, every thing being
in readiness for their departure. Edith, who seemed
anxious to avoid the trial of seeing him thus forcibly
removed, was about to quit the room, when Edward,
notwithstanding his boasted courage, caught her hand
again, and exclaimed, * Edith, go quickly to Carlisle,
and on your knees implore the niercy of my uncle
for me. He cannot let me die a death so dreadful,
*id he has power, if but the will, to save me. Now
go, but when my doom is iixed, come to me again:
from this I know you will not shrink, however; sad

MllilAM. • • 125

must our meetting be. Say, Edith, will you promise
that we meet again ? *

• Sacredly do I promise that we shall meet once
moTe,' she replied, and without ventering another look,
she rushed from the room, and in a few moments was
on the road to Carlislej while the prisoner was convey-
ed to Liverpool, there to await his fatal trial.

CHAPTER VII

Edith, wholly insensible to the fatigue she had al-
ready encountered, and which yet lay before her in
her long and melancholy journey, thought only of its
issue in all the varyings of alternate Ihope and fear ;
aad aware of the importance of expedition, every mo-
fluent seemed an hour in which she was delayed. In
this state of mind, the unhappy girl lost all sense of
^personal suffering, travelling night and d^y until she
ilreached Carlisle, allowing herself neither rest nor food
beyond that which she felt really essential to support
?|ier sinking frame. Here, wnen she was asked to
"Vf^hom she wished to go, her heart died within her,
v^md for the first time she shrunk from the painful mis-
Pi' tmon which she came to ftilfil ; but it was only the fear-
t ^^Iness of a moment— 4he life of Edward was at stake,

StlA'

126 • >imiAM.

and forgetting all else» she desired to be immediately
taken to Mr. Forrester's. Her story was- soon toli
and the good old man, who had been only a few hours
previouisly informed of the treachery of his nephew,
sympathised too truly with her to condemn her impor-
tunity, and regarding her as the victim, rather than a
sharer of guilt, he bade her be comforted, and to rest
assured of his protection until she could be safely in-
trusted to her mother's care. ' As to that ungrateful
boy, he deserves to be hanged,' added he, turning away
from the heart-broken Edith, and walking up and down
the room to -conceal the feelings with which his own
mind was agitated, ' so what is the use of saving him ?
If he had a thousond lives, he would disgrace them all,
and come to the gallows at last.'

* Oh ! if you had but seen him as I have seen him,*
exclaimed Edith, * you would be more merciful in
judgment against a fellow creature ; you would not heap
such coals of fire on his burning head, but would forgive
him, even as you hope to be forgiven by heaven. Save
him then, I beseech you, for your own soul's sake ; for,
remember, the guilty have more need of life than those
who need fear nothing at the judgment-seat of God.
Let him live then and repent, and the day may come
when you will rejoice over the redeemed soul of him
who now pleads for mercy at your hands. O, Mr. For-
rester, stain not your own soul by the blood of an in-
fidel ! Leave his life to him who has power and mercy
to turn the sinner's heart, and blessing without number
shall be given you in return. '

'Ah!' replied Mr. Forrester, mournfully, * I wish
with all my hear his life were in the pdwer of those
who love him as I have done, then, ungrateful as
he has been to me, not a hair of his head should
be touched. But justice must have its due, and you
and I might call long enough for mercy if thelawcon-
<demn him.'

Edith looked surprised: * I thought you only had

niRiAM. 127

power to arrest him,' said she, * who then has dared to
doit?'

' The bankers from whom the money was demanded,'
replied Mr. Forrester, * who, discovering my name to
be forged, obtained a warrant for his arrest, and the king
alone has now power to save him.'

* Then cannot you go to the king ? ' eagerly enquired
Edith. ' He has so benevolent a heart, that surely he
would in pity to us all vouchsafe a pardon.'

* The king would have enough to do if he were to
be troubled with every villain's story in his dominions
who deserves death,' replied Mr. Forrester ; 'and al-
though, heaven be praised, we have as merciful a sove-
reign as ever sat on England's throne, his people
would not like to be cheated out of their laws : and
yet,' added the kind-hearted old man, * God knows,
all I can I will do to save the poor boy's life, even if it
cost me every farthing that I can call my own.'

' Pray God bless you for that,' earnestly exclaimed
Edith, clasping her hands, * then we may hope he will
not die ! '

Mr. Forrester shook his head, but forebore contra-
diction, unwilling to check the hope which he observed
brightening the v/an countenance of the unhappy girl :
, * Yes, I forgive him,' said he, * although I have done
with him for ever as a son. Aye, young woman, by the
sorrow of your own heart you may guess in part what
mine must feel. I have nursed that boy from his very
cradle; for him alone have I toiled, and thought of his
happiness and bis well doing far more than of my own,
and yet this is the return he makes me#'

* Doubtless he has deeply sinned against you,' said
Edith, * and we all strangely sin one against the other,
even where we love the most. I too have almost bro-
ken my poor mother's heart, and yet I feel that if she
will but take me back to her again, and it please God
lo spare my life and reason, I shall be to her all that a

128 MIRIAM.

tender child can be. Edward, I am sure must feel the
Bame towards his injured uncleJ

Mr. Forrester was silent, for his heart was full to
overflowing, and he would not yield to the relief of
unmanly tears. Edith was now about to leave him.
Her mission was accomplished, and nothing further to
rouse her, she felt that her exhausted frame could bear
no more. Mr. -Forrester, however needed not the
teaching of benevolence, nor to be told what was too
evident to be disguised. He saw how much she re-
quired rest, and insisting on her remaining under his
roof, he immediately gave orders for her to have^all that
could possibly tend to comfort and repose. Poor Edith,
who had little expected such a reception, was overcome
with gratitude ; and worn out by excessive fatigue and
anxiety, she gladly retired to bed, where renovated in
Bome degree by the refreshment that had been given
to her, she slept more composedly than might have been
expected from the feverish state of her mind.

The next morning Edith was really ill, although she
refused to acknowledge the sufferings of mind and
body which she knew could meet no relief from any
human remedies; and Mr. Forrester, seeing how
much she needed the watchful nursing of a mother
strenuously urged her to go home without delay, prom- ,
ising not only to accompany her, but to act as mediator
betwixt herself and her aggrieved family. This was
indeed a trial which she most dreaded to meet, and
much as she yearned for the affectionate sympathy of
those whom she well knew loved her still, fain Wojil^
she have deferred it till another day, had not Mr. For-
rester warmly advised her against it, convinced that
the evil would, only be aggravated by such a procrastin-
ation. He further assured her respecting his unfortun-
ate nephew, that he would take every means of obtain-
ing the royal pardon, and would himself see that the
culprit had every personal comfort duriijg his impris-
onment, which could soften the rigors of confinement.

MIRIAM.

12T

This benevolent promise again renewed the hopes of
Edith, and anxious that Mr. Forrester should not be
detained from such a purpose, she no longer thought
of her own feelings, but declared herself ready to ac- l

company him to Glencairn, whenever he thought prop-
er to take her thither. Gratified by her compliance, he |
was not long in preparing for their journey, and in a # •
few hours the travellers reached the glen, where Edith
was received as a prodigal, indeed, for whom the * fit-
ted calf ' would gladly have b^en killed, and the best
garments prepared, could these have healed the wounds
which, alas ! conscience too readily probed within her '
self-accusing heart !

But as the scene of her return has been already re-
lated, we will continue our narrative from the period
in which Mrs. Stuart had received from Mr. Forrester
thQse sad communications, which filled every heart in
the village with sorrow and surprise.

The illness of Edith, which terminated in a brain
fever, for maqy days endangered her life. In all the
ravings of delirium, the accusations of conscience were
beyond description dreadful ; while she loudly prayed
for mercy and prolonged life, that a timely repentance
might be granted her. Mrs. Stuart had found Lady
Beauford's letter in Edith's trunk, and its contents too
evidently betrayed the base deceit which had been prac-
tised, and whicn alone sufficiently accounted for those
heart-rending reproaches with which the poor sufferer's
mind was continually agitated. The prayers of the

Sious family, however, were not long unanswered. It
ad been to them all a season of deep humility and ear-
nest supplication, and for the sake of Him in whose
name they had implored the blessing of restored peace,
liope once more dawned upon them, and turned their
sorrow into praise ; for Edith gradually recovered her
^reason, and with it expressed the deepest sense of her
imworthiness, while, with the humility of genuine pen-
itence, she related to her. mother all that had passed.

128 MIRIAM.

concealing nothing of her own misconduct. Neither
did she attempt to disguise her anxiety respecting her
lover, and aware how unequal she was, in her preseat
exhausted state, to execute her promised return to him
she implored her mother's permission of writing, that
he might not suppose himself deserted by her in- a mo-
ment of such awful suspense. , All that could pacify
her sickly mind was readily granted, while not one
word of reproach was ever suffered to awaken a doubt ^
of entire forgiveness, for her own remorse had silenced,
every tongue against her. To Helen more particular-
ly did she open her heart on the subject which so en-
grossed her every thought, and exacted a promise from
her that she would faithfully communicate whatever ti-
dings might be received of the prisoner's fate. Mr;
Forrester, since his departure, had punctually informed
Mrs. Stuart of all that was passing, but his intelligence
was daily less sanguine as to the success of the petition,
which bad been offered to the king's mercy. The case
was so aggravated, that to have pardoned such an io-
stance of guilt would have be6n compromising the lawa
of our just and excellent constitution ; a short reprieve
was all that could be granted, and that without the most
distant promise of further lenity. At length the dread-
ful edict was publicly issued which announced the day
appointed for the execution of the unhappy prisoner.
It was immediately forwarded by Mr. Forrester to Mrs.
Stuatt, together with a letter from the prisoner to Edith,
entreating to see her once more. The wretched man
expressed no hope but that existence would end with
life, and incoherently mentioned death, judgment, and
salvation, as if he had but a confused idea of the reli-
gion which might have taught him how to die, and
preserved him from an end so appalling to his gttilty
soul. This was a moment of trial to Mrs. Stuart,
which nothing but divine strength could have enabled
her to support. She dared not tell Edith the contents
of that fatal packet, yet aware- that the culprit's death

MIRIAM. 129

could not ultimately be eoncealed, she believed it better
to prepare her for the issue, by at least communicating
to her the hopelessness of his situation. Helen, to
whom the trenibling mother appealed for counsel as to
how this could best be done, hastily replied, * Indeed,
mother, it would break our poor Edith's heart to think
that he must die. You know not how she clings to the
hope of his release, and in the certainty of this alone
has her mind resumed it composure. Tell her any
thing but the truth — say that he is pardoned, but ban-
ished for ever from the country ; this will silence fur-
ther inquiry, and end her anxiety for his life, and sure-
ly it will be a very innocent deception ? '

* Helen,' said Mrs. Stuart, is it in a time of such
deep tribulation, and under a visitation like this, that
we can dare add the guilt of falsehood to sorrow which
sin has already wrought us ? Let us not tempt the
Lord to withdraw his gracious promise from us, for
without his strength how could our weakness bear the
burthen of this calamity^ No, my poor child has
«own evil for herself, and she must bear its reapings,
sufier what we wilU' ,

Silence for some moments ensued, for Helen could
not but feel the justice of her mother's reply, although
neither the one nor the other had courage to decide
the anxious question. It was therefore left undecided,
and Helen, unwilling to resume it, returned to Edith,
whom she found a&leep, and Miriam sitting by her side,
silently watching her restless slumbers. The latter
had a small Testament in her hand^ which seemed so
intently to occupy her mind, that she did not immediate-
ly observe the entrance of Helen, but started when she
did so, and slightly coloring, re-placed the book in her
work-bag, evidently anxious to conceal it from the ob-
servation of her friend. She had been a daily visiter
at the glen ever since the illness of Edith claimed the
sympathy of her kind heart, and had been to them all
sach an instrument of comfort and support, that her

130 MIRIAM. ,

very presence seemed now like a sunbeam brightening
their clouded path ; while, with a delicacy which none
but the truly generous can understand, did she adminis-
ter to their temporal wants such relief as her observ-
ant eye discoverepl to be most needed. Neither was
her own heart left unimproved by the lessons of prac-
tical Christianity taught her in that house of mourn-
ing. Truly, indeed, did she weep with those that
wept ; and no longer averse to Christian instruction,
she would listen to the pious exhortations with which
the invalid was from time to time encouraged to
repent and hope, with as much interest and silent def-
erence, as if her own soul had been the prodigal ad-
dressed.

It was the afternoon of that day that Mr. Howard
had appointed to administer the holy sacrament to
Edith and her afflicted family. She had never before
wished to * bind herself,' as she expressed it, to the ne-
cessity of being religious, fearful of not pursuing such
a course of holiness as was, she thought, required from
those who became partakers of the solemn feast. But
Mr. Howard had taught her not only the fallacy of her
scruples, but the benefits to be derived from a frequent
partaking of this memorial of our Savior's love, which
when spirituality received, must tend to awaken feel-
ings of gratitude, and a desire of holiness, best calcu-
lated to lead the soul to Him, who could sanctify, for-
give, and redeem the weakest sinner who rested
only, and confidently rested, upon his merits for the
fruition of all hope. And to the plea which Edith
would sometimes urge, that she was not ^fit ' to receive
an institution which appeared to her only intended for
those disciples of the Lord who were * really religious!
Mr. Howard would ask her then how she was fit to
die, and appear before the tribunal of a just and angry
God, where every unrepented sin — either of omission
or commission*--must appear against us ? We might
indeed, he said, presumptuously defer to a later period

MIRIAM. 131

obedience and repentance, but could we defer death,
over whose mission our will has no power, and which-
comes even as a * thief in the night,' often when the
' careless soul felt itself most secure from its sumtnons?
No: and in ourselves the very best of us could find no
plea for acceptance, since all our righteousness is but
corruption in the pure sight of God?

Edith confessed it an awful consideration, and at
length convinced of the truth of such an argument, she

^ now longed as much as she had before dreaded, to be
admitted as a communicant in that sacred ordinance.
These circumstances seemed so favorable to her pres-
ent situation, that Mrs. Stuart, on much anxious delib-
eration, determined that after the administration 9f
the service, Mr. Howard should prepare Edith for the
trial which lay before her, as her mind would doubt-
less be then peculiarly fortified to bear the will of
God with comparative submission. The melancholy
packet, containing the dreaded tidings, had arrived
that morning by an express, and as. the letters were
never delivered till late in the evening, Edith was

^ perfectly unconscious that any could have already been
received ; but never did the hour of post escape with-
out frequent enquires as to its result. Mr. Howard,
therefore, promised to remain with her, and to take upon
himself the painful task of communicating the fatal in-
telligence whenever she might resume her interroga-
tions. Miriam, willing to share with them the anxiety

■^of such a moment, in case of being able to render any
personal assistance or comfort, pleaded her wish of
witnessing a ceremony of which she had often heard,
to remain with them till night ; and was still sitting

^ by the bedside of Edith, diverting her mind from mel-
ancholy thoughts by cheerful and judicious conver-
^«rtion, when Mr. Howard arrived to fulfil the duties

= assigned him. It was truly an hour of deep and touch-
ing solemnity. The feeble hands of Edjth for the first
time raised to receive the * body and blood of Christ,' .

132 MIRIAM.

expressive of her desire to be henceforward united to
Him, while her plaintive voice could but faintly utter
her resoultions of an amended life, seemed figurative
of that infant helplessness with which every new-bom
soul should enter the covenant of the Lord. The
heart of the mother struggling against contending
emotions, could scarely support the feelings with.
w^hich it was overwhelmed. God had indeed never
yet forsaken her, but had hitherto rather * stayed his
rough wind in the day of the east wind,' and she *
wished even now to trust more fearlessly to his sup-
porting providence. But nevertheless it was a severe
trial of her faith thus to await the impending storm,
and her courage well nigh failed as time hastened the
bursting of that heavy cloud. Helen felt it yet even
more insupportable. She tried to overcome — to be- -^
lieve — to trust ! but no effort could dispel the terror
she endured ; and as if some mortal w'ound were about
to be inflicted, she poured out her soul to God, w^hile
still her heart yielded to human w^eakness, and sank
beneath the agony of that anticipated blowl She could
no longer trust herself to look on Edith, whom she
now regarded as its certain victim, but immediately
on the conclusion of the prayers, she hastily left the
room, and retired to her own, there to give free vent
to the inward bitterness of her heart, which she had so
vainly endeavored to suppress. It was seldom that her
fortitude was thus conquered, but she was no heroine,
exempt from the frailties of human nature ; and wholly
unable to suppress her feelings, she sank upon her knees
humbled and self accusing, while earnestly she prayed
for greater strength, and a renewal of divine grace.
Had the thoughts of Edith been less intently occupied
by the service in which she had just been participating,
the evident agitation betrayed on the pale countenance
of her mother, and the sudden escape of Helen, must
have excited her suspicion as to the cause, but it pass-
ed wholly unobserved by her; and Miriam, always

MIRIAM. 133'

watchful over the feelings of others, seeing that it was so,
^endeavored still to attract the mind of Edith from out-
ward objects, by immediately questioning Mr. How-
ard upon the nature of the institution she had witness-
ed. * For surely,' said she, * it is the height of super-
stition to believe that the flesh and blood of your pro-
phet can substantially exist in bread and wine made by
the hands of men.'

* We do not in the least believe them to be so ; ' re-
^ plied Mr. Howard; * Catholics alone hold the doc-
* trine of transubstantiation. We receive them simply

as memorials, of the love of our dying Savior in shed-
ding his blood, and giving his body to die on the
cross for us ; and we reccommend a frequent partak-
ing of them, as a personal renewal of our faith in his
promises and atonement, upon which we believe a
blessing peculiarly rests, and not because we suppose
that we virtually eat the substance of which they are
but types.'

* Then why hold it in such sacred esteem ? ' asked
Miriam, * or suppose, as you appear to do, that the ne-
glect of it is so great a sin in the sight of God ? '

* We certainly esteem it, as we do all the commands
of our Savior, as requiring our implicit fulfilment in
token of our allegiance to Him, if I may so express
myself ; but not as being, more than any other act of
obedience, a meritorious plea for his favor and ac-
ceptance. But notwithstanding no virtue can possibly
attach to any of our imperfect services, whatever be
the form in which we oflfer them, yet we feel that a
rejection of the positive command, ' Do this in re-
membrance of me,' is more especially disregarding
that sacred bond of union which Christ then conde-
scended to establish between Himself and his people.'

, * Then what is the virtue you ascribe to the bread
* and wine, which you seem to consecrate as something
in themselves holy ? '
. ' As symbolical only of the body and blood of Christ,

1^4

MIRIAM.

who suffered for our sakesV replied Mr. Howard, * wte,
consider them consecrated elements, but unless they)^
are spiritually received as such, and as tokens of ,the>ti
faith which we thereby profess in the efficacy an(f^*
necessity of his precious blood for the remission of all'
our sins, the bread and wine can no more nourish oujr, ^
souls, than food could support and restore our d^lld. * j
bodies.' ^ * J

* But if received in faith,' said Miriam, * you believe v^;
the sacrament not only a safeguard agaist sin, but as ca- £'
pable of imparling forgivness of the past, and strengtl^^^
against future temptations ? '

* We believe that nothing but the grace of God can "
do either the one or the other,' solemnly replied Mr..,
Howard ; *but we consider it as a mean of great spir->^
itual benefit — as peculiarly directing our minds to th^ •4
important sacrifice with which our salvation is sealed, *i
exciting us to grateful praise, and enlarging our faith^
by so immediately bringing to our view the stupen?
dous design of mercy towards us fulfiled by the death
and righteousness of Christ; It leads us to a review of
our past lives, awakening us to an humble and penitent
sense of our guilt as it stands before God, while it
encourages us to hope for pardon and mercy through
the very love of which the sacrament is a memorial

It is a mean of greater separation from the world, as
especially abstracting the heart and affections of a
Christian from temporal to spiritual longings, and
rouses us from that tame and lukewarm spirit, which,
perpetually creeping over us, lulls us imperceptibly to
a false and dangerous security. All this^ Miss Dur-
van, is the sacrament of the Lord's Supper to such as
piously receive it, and we conceive few Christians who '
have considered the privilege of such an institution, .
can' willingly neglect a banquet so replete with bless- 1^
ings, a duty so incumbent upon all who love our bless-
ed Lord and Master.'

* I own,' said Miriam, ' tha^ the Christian faith ap- >

MIRIAM. 135

r pears to me very incomprehensible, as separating mer-
l It from works, and yet so strictly requiring obedience to
t ^the precepts of your gospel. Is not this an inconsis-
I ^ tency, since you consider works necessary to salvation,
J if their fulfilment be nothing meritorious ? '

* They are certainly so far necessary,' replied Mr.
H(3«vara, * as a manifestation of the sincerity of our
feitn. An habitual purity of heart and conduct, though
not our meritorious title to heaven, is an indispensable

f' % evidence of our meetness for it. * Without holiness, no
^ fS man shall see the Lord.' * This is a faithful saying, and
. these things I will that thou affirm constantly, that they
. . which have believed in God, might be careful to main-
;" tain good works : and it is certain, that they who wil-
I ' fully indulge in any known sin, or disregard holiness
[' \ of life, however they may profess, and with their lips
»^' Call Jesus 'Lord, Lord,' can have no spiritual part in
f him. They are but hypocrites in the sight of God,
«^ amd must come'under an awful condemnation. Surely
". there can be no inconsistency in this doctrine of united

faith and works.'
i * Then you of course believe that those who have em-

braced this faith can never sin ? '

* The natural heart is so intimately connected with
> sin,' replied Mr. Howard, ** that {here is none right-
[. eous, no, not one; ' and every hour has the most pious
I' believer to lament his utter inability to preserve his
■ soul from violating, by thought, word, and deed, the

sacred requirements of the divine law. Consequently
many even visible errors may often appear in a Chris-
[ tian, and thousands more committed which are known
^ > only to God and his own soul. But he will not remain
a willing subject of ^in. None lies unrepented in his
bosom-^he attempts no self vindication, but feeling
• himself guilty, the conviction produces a genuine sor-
L -^ow and earnest piayer to be delivered from its penalty
L and power. He flies to Christ for refuge, and to the
|\ Holy Spirit for renewed grace and sanctification.'
f}. *If all men are then so incapable of goodness,' ask-

136 . MIRIAM.

•

ed Miriam, * upon what grounds can any us of expe
enjoy heaven as our reward ? '

* Upon none whatever,' replied Mr. Howard ;
if heaven were only attainable as a reward for Jiu
goodness, no human being would ever reach that i
sion of spotless holiness ; since the slightest vioL
of the law, which all intelligent creatures are undc
unchangeable obligation to obey, incurs the wra
our just and holy Creator, and renders us unfit for
presence. The righteousness of Christ who fulfilei
law for us, can alone be our plea for the favor of
and restoration to happiness ; for we do most full
sert, that all men naturally, without Christ, are
state of guilt and condemnation. On the fall of A
a curse passed over all^ and we universally bee
partners of his guilt, the children of disobedience, lo
darkness more than light, as the tainted scions of e
rupt tree, which can no longer bear good fruit,
in Christ we are again renewed, and become right
in the sight of God as being united to him — th€
grafted branches of the * tree of life.' His .holy j
is instilled throughout our souls, renewing in our h
desires after holiness, and enabling us to walk, no
ter the flesh, but after the spirit. .Thus only does
Christian hope and expect heaven as the fruitic
God's unfailing promises, made to such as woulc
cept the covenant, ordained for all mankind in the
siah. But he expects it only as the free and unmc
result of God's unbounded love : obtained not b)
but for us, solely by the sacrifice of his Son, in vi
justice found an ample atonement for all our sins,
entire reconciliation for man to God.' .

* Then you admit, said Miriam, coloring, ' that
works be fruits and evidences of sanctification, i
persons Nvho lead good and virtuous lives are safe
the curse, although they cannot hold the doctrine c
heart's natural corruption, but rest on their obed
to God, so far as they are enabled to fulfil his

MIRIAM. 137

mands, as sufficient for salvation ; a hope quite consis-
tent with the promises contained in our scriptures, you
surely must often very uncharitably judge aftid condemn
your felldw creatures.'

* Judgment and condemnation belong to Him alone,*
replied Mr. Howard, * who only can search and know
the human heart. Many may appear strictly moral
characters in the eyes of men, who; wanting the very
spirit on which salvation depends, are doubtless, before
God in a fearful state of Pharisaical self-righteousness,
which I do not hesitate to assert, is a state of fatal de-
lusion. But I believe consci(^nce is always our own
judge. That ' still small voice ' will ever whisper in
our souls whether we are children of darkness, or heirs
of glory. It will tell us whether we conscientiously
walk according t;p the light received, and be a faithful
reprover of whatever is wrong within us. This will,
I believe, condemn or acquit us, since we are accounta-
ble for the motives of our actions, not for errors com-
mitted in unwilling ignorance. Vain will be the
boasting of the Pharisee, while many a trembling peni-
tent, led to the Savior by an inward sense of guilt,
longing for pardon and acceptance, humbly walks with
God in a state of justificatin, although condemned and
rejected by the world. Believing on Him who justi-
fieth the ungodly, his faith is counted to him for right-
eousness, because he is acquitted and pardoned in Christ,
not in himself; and your scriptures, my dear Miss Dur-
van, assert the same thing's in other words, when David
declares, * Blessed is he whose.transgression is forgiv-
en, whose sin is covered, to whom the Lord imputeth
not iniquity; ' he does not say, blessed are they who do
no iniquity. Now surely this is clearly testifying that
a righteousness not our own must cover our sins.'

Miriam shook her head, but made no reply, and Mr.
Howard, after a moment's pause, added smiling. * As
to your charge against us of illiberality towards each
other, it is somewhat a heavy one, and often, I fear, too

138 MIRIAM.

justly our due. We cannot, however, avoid in s
degree judging of others accordingly as we may
their actions^influenced by good or evil, althougt
certainly ought to do so in a spirit of meekAess
lenity. For instance, if we see a professing Chri
lukewarm in the service of God, neglecting the
bath, evidencing a dislike to spiritual employments
satisfied with a superficial knowledge of the E
leaving it from day to day unstudied ; anxious for
things of this world, but careless in those of eter
are we not justified in concluding that there is no
religion, no principle of godliness in that manJs he
— just as we might feirly call him an infidel who o
ly avows sentiments of infidelity. But in neither
would we dare assert that such are not equally wj
the care of Providence, equally subjects of his 1
suffering mercy.'

* May I ask,'' said Miriam, ' how faith can be cc
ed to you for righteousness ? In this sense you c
merit in the very power of believing, which appea
me far less deserving it, than those works of obedi
and self-denial, over which thfe will has actual po^
for faith may be deemed wholly a mental property,
pending upon the degree of capacity given to eac
us, of forming just opinions through the medium of
tain impressions received upon the mind.'

* That there are different degrees of human un
standing all will admit,' replied Mr. Howard, '
God has not left truth, on which depends the salva
of every soul, limited .to the comprehension of
learned only.- Faith is a passive feeling, depending
no abstract principles, and is equally open to'the cj
city of every rational mind. It is simply the recei^
of God's written word with childlike simplicity, w
out human innovations, or speculative enquiry. '
most illiterate peasant earnestly praying to be tai
the road to heaven, hears the admonition, * Believe
the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,' and

¥■

MIRIAM. 139

fubmits to the Conviction that Christ is * all in all,' and
man altogether nothing, because God tells him so ; he
presumes no further to question his sovereign decrees ;
^nd thus submitting, he stands securely upon that rock,
where all things necessary to his salvation shall be ad-
ded .to his meek belief.'

* But what is the righteousness imputed to your
feith?'

* Our justification is not by the merit of faith itself,
but only by faith as that which embraces and appropri-
ates the merits of Christ. If we receive it not entirely
as such, our system of faith is nothing more than a re-
fined mode of justification by works. * Faith,' says a
pious author, whose views on the subject appear to me
very clear, * does not justify us because God foresaw that
it would produce good works, but simply, because it
apprehends and accepts the atonement of Jesus. It is
true that faith is counted to us for righteousness ;' but
not in the same sense in which * Christ is made unto us
righteousness,' that is, as the meritorious cause of it.
When God imputes faith for righteousness. He has re-
gard, not to the merit or excellence of faith as it is in
us, but to the merits and excellence of that Divine Re-
deemer on whom our feith terminates. But this sub-
ject can scarcely be better explained than it is by our
Church, in her admirable homily on the salvation of
mankind. * St. P^ul declareth nothing upon the be-
half of man concerning his justifiication, but only a true
and lively faith ; which nevertheless is the gift of God,
and not man's work without God. And yet that faith
does not shut out repentance, hope, love, dread, and the
fear of God to be joined with faith ; but it shutteth them
out from the office of justifying. So that although they
be all present together in him that is justified, yet all of
them together cannot justify.' '

Edith, who appeared deeply engrossed with this con-
versation, now asked Mr. Howard if a death-bed re-
j>entance could be acceptable as an evidence of faith,

]40 MIRIAM.

where the life of the penitent had been previously one
of wilful transgression and neglect of God ?

* Repentance really resulting from an inward sorrow
for sin, and which raises the soul altogether from its
own justification to that which is in Christ, producing
genuine desires after holiness, is certainly an evidence
that the Spirit of God has begun the work of regener-
ation in the soul, and we are sure that it can never be
left incomplete. The transgressions of the sinner are
then 'blotted out ' forever by the blood of our Redeem-
er, and are remembered no more, as though they had
never been in existence. At the same time we must be
sure that we deceive not ourselves as to the nature of
our repentance, that it does not spring merely from
a dread of punishment, rather than a longing afler holi-
ness ; or from fear, rather than from the love of God,
which is so greatly to be apprehended in a late repent-
ance, wrung from the soul by cricumstances instead
of conviction, that I would solemnly warn all against
deferring it to a dying bed, convinced that very few
are the instances where it is then within our power
to desire it in that sincerity which alone can render it
acceptable.'

* How then,' asked Miriam, * was the thief upon the
cross so immediately forgiven, as is related in your
Testament: since it certainly does not appear that he
evidenced any other repentance than that which you
hiive described arising from fear? Indeed Matthew
and Mark both testify that he even united with the mul-
titude in reviling the crucified Jesus.'

* Pardon me, Miss Durvan,' replied Mr. Howard,
* never was genuine repentance more strikingly evi-
denced than in the instance of the dying malefactor.
St. Matthew and St. Mark both relate that he reviled
Christ, a proof indeed of his previous infidelity.
These historians, probably from the immense con-
course of people assembled about Calvary, saw not his^
subsequent repentance and faith, so beautifully record-

MIRIAM. 141

hd by St. Luke, who, we may believe received it from

Jthe testimony of those who were more immediately eye-

§ -^witnesses of the whole; and if you attentively peruse

' ■ uftie narrative, you will find every essential fruit of faith

flustrated in the conduct of the penitent thief. His
llow-sufferer, hardened in infidelity, yet trembling
under the dread ol punishment, impiously addressed
J oar Savior with the incredulous appeal, ' If thou be
tile, Christ, save thyself and us,' while the other struck
i^th a deep sense of their mutual guilt, rebuked him,
-raying, * Dost thou not fear God, seeing thou art in
the same condemnation, and we indeed justly, for we
receive the due reward of our deeds ? ' Here was tes-
tified the fear of God, which is the • beginning of wis-
dom,', and an anxiety for the soul of his companion,
which is Christian charity. He no longer expressed

. doubts concerning the character of Jesus, but candidly
avowed his newly awakened faith, that He, whom but
a few hours before he had impiously reviled, was
indeed the Christ, both man and God, ' Lord, remem-

' ber me when thou comest into thy kingdom.' He ex-
pressed no fear of punishment — he submitted without
a murmur to the crucifixion of a criminal, acknowledg-

' iptg it the due reward of his iniquities. He oflfered
no self-vindication, but throwing himself solely on
the mercy of Christ, tacitly avowed faith in his power
to save and to forgive, while he sought his intercession
not in the coward language of unmanly fear, with
which the other had implored to be saved from bodily
torture, but, tenderly appealing to him as his friend
and Savior, he united prayer to faith, and hope to hu-
miliation. * Lord, remember me ! ' Jesus answered
him : < Verily I say ynto thee, this day thou shalt
Ij^e with me in Paradise.' His repentance was ac-
cepted, and his pardon sealed for ever, for it was a
repentance which had brought forth the fruits of the
Spirit — faith, hope, charity : a love of God, a sense of
human helplessness, and a hatred of iniquity. Tell

' '*a

142 MIRIAM.

me then, Miss Durvan, how a conversion could be
most sincerely manifested? »At the same time, b^.*;
though this is graciously recorded as an encourac
ment to penitent believers, to rely fearlessly on %
mercy of their heayenly Father, even when coming I
him at the eleventh hour, it is the only instance
fered in a volume replete with exhortations to a tim^j
acceptance of the gospel covenant. Let us therefi
beware how we presume to continue in sin, trusting
a death-bed repentance, for we know not the hour wn
the * Son of man cometh ;' and woe be to him whof^
the Lord shall find unprepared.'

Miriam smiled, and said there was no conquering ail
antagonist such as Mr. Howard. Edith asked if he
thought conversion was generally a sudden work.
He replied, that although in many cases it had doubjt-
less been so, and therefore not to be discredited, yet
his own opinion was, that the work of regeneration
was ordinarily so slow and imperceptible, that few who
were now led ^way by the power of imagination, could
tell the exact time of their conversion^ although they
might trace the circumstances which humanly speak-
ing, led to it. * And I own,' added he, * that I think it
a dangerous system to inculcate a habit of expressing
such feelings in general conversation, which is too
often done at the risk of misleading the mind to rest
very much on impressions, excited perhaps by a vision-
ary, or ^t most, a very evanescent feeling ; which, mis-
taken for solid principle, often leads to the most dan-
gerous fanaticism and self-delusion. The state of the
soul as regards conversion, rests entirely, I think, be-
tween God and the conscience, and should be con-
sidered as too sacredly deposited there, to be lightly
drawn out to the criticism of our fellow-creatures. Let
a practical example of piety be the only test outwardly
eyinced of the influence which it has upon the in-
ward soul, and it will be found, generally speaking,
far more beneficigll to the souls of others, than the
most elaborate detail of feeling could be.'

MIRIAM. 145

The • twanging horn,' which was now faintly heard
reverberating through the neighborin'g cliffs, roused
the attention of all the party, and re-called their minds
t9 a &r different subject of interest, as announcing the
approach of the postman to their little glen. A flush
immediately passed over the sickly countenance of
Edith, which faded gradually again to the paleness of
death, as the shrill note becarne more distinct and
near. There is, perhaps, no scene in which the feel-
ings of unsophisticated nature are more vividly por-
trayed, than in the arrival of a mail in a secluded vil-
lage like Glencairn, where, free from the restraints of
ettiquette or fashion, none are ashamed to own a kin-
dred interest one towards another, but flock around the
• man of news,' anxious either to receive their own, or
to sympathise in the joys and sorrows imparted to
others. The busy messenger soon teUs the current
story of the day, and, careless of its import, as quickly
disappears to tell it * o'er again,' while, indifferent to
the good or evil he distributes, he leaves the minds of
others to feel the interests to which his own is callous.
But ah! who can tell the anguish thus harrowed up in
hearts, which b^t a few hours before revelled perhaps in
cheerful gladness, unconscious of the stroke which so
soon may widow the happy wife, bereave an anxious
mother, and blast forever the vivid hopes of many a
youthful bosom ; so surely, alas ! the * sword abroad
befeaveth,' and sends home death and sorrow. But
life is varied, and the same hand which pours bitterness
on some, throws joys on others ; and thus, while sorrox^
weeps her unseen tears over the sad messenger of un-
expected grief, many a group of laughing girls hang
over the well-depicted scenes of pleasur^-and seem for
a moment to realise in their own light hearts the fairy
visions which the playful pen of those they love have
colored from the gaities of life.

Edith, unable long to conceal her anxiety, now en*
treated her mother to go and inquire if any letters had

146 MIRIAM.

arrived for her. Mrs. Stuart silently acquiesced, and
as she left the room, looked expressively at Mr. How-
ard, that he might aAvait her return to communicate
the truth to her afflicted child. Helen at the saiQe
moment entered the room, resolved to conquer the
weakness which for a moment had made her shrink
from the trial now at hand ; but her pallid countenance
and swollen eyes immediately awakened the suspicions
of Edith, who, peculiarly susceptible to alarm, no
sooner saw her sister, than with a look of earnest In-
quiry she exclaimed, * O Helen 1 I am sure there is
some bad news ; tell me at once, I implore you, all
that you have heard or know.' Helen pressed her
hand, and tenderly endeavoring to soothe her, evaded
her inquiries by some vague reply, while her own heart
was nearly breaking for the sorrow which she dared
not hide. Mr. Howard saw their mutual distress, and
anxious to remove further suspense, gently prepared
the mind of Edith to bear t^e tidings he was commis-
sioned to impart. He reminded her of those resolu-
tions, which but a few hours before she had so solemn-
ly pledged to fulfill. * Endeavor, then, dear Edith,'
said he, * to raise your soul above the things of time,
and prove the power of your faith by yielding up your
own desires to the wisdom of God; believing, that
according to your day, so shall your strength be, and
that all things shall work together for yout good,
if you will but trust to the mercy of him who ordereth
all things well. Yes, my poor girl ! wait patiently,
and He will make the * rough places plain to you : '
only wait, I say, on the the Lord!' Mr. Howard
paused, for his benevolent heart too deeply sympathis-
ed with the sufferer to inflict a wound unmoved : his
voice faltered, and a tear fell from his cheek upon the
hand of Edith. She felt its touch, and startled from
the stupor of suspense by this affectionate token of sym-
pathy, which told too plainly that all her fears were
realized, she leaned her head on Mr. Howard's shoul-
der, and covering her eyes with her burning hand.

MIRIAM. 147

as if to shut out all sense, she said : ' I know what yoi
mean, and I can bear it now, at least I think I can : —
but O Mr. Howard, must he really die V
* * God only can foresee the issue of events,' replied
Mr. Howard, unwilling at once to crush the hope
which even yet was too evidently cherished in her
bosom.

* But you mean to say, that he is condemned,' said
Edith, faintly. * I bless you for your kindness, Mr.
Howard, but you need not fear to tell me all.'

* He is reprieved — but alas ! not pardoned,' said
Mr. Howard, again vaguely replying; *not indeed
pardoned on earth, but let us hope that he will even
yet, like the penitent thief, look with faith on him
whom he has reviled, and receive the forgiveness of
heaven.'

* Reprieved ! ' exclaimed Edith, apparently re-
lieved, and looking timidly up, * O then perhaps he
will not die, till he can die a Christian's death ; and
then indeed, if he but hear that gracious promise
which, blessed the dying thief with assured salvation,
I should little care how long my own earthly sorrows
lasted. I should be patient — resigned — nay, almost
happy.'

Helen, alarmed by the energy with which this was
uttered, entreated Edith to be composed, but it seemed
only the more to excite her, till seeing the tears of
her sister, she resumed in a calmer tone : * Helen,
my own sweet sister, why grieve so sorely with one
wno has deserved no sympathy ? for I have made all
wretched that I love ; but you are all kind to me,
very kind. Now let me go to Edward,' added she,
raising from the arm-chair on which she lay supported,
and looking wildly around her : * I promised him sa-
credly that I would go to him once again, only once
more, I said, and I must not break my word. Yes, I
will go to' hini once more, and tell him how to die.
Give me a Bible, Helen ; O would that we could both

148 MIRIAM.

love that book, then might we again meet in heaveD,
forgiven of all our sins — to sin never, never more ! '

Exhausted by this delirious struggle of contending
feelings, the unhappy girl fell back, and soon becanae
insensible alike to sympathy and torrow. Mr. Howardr
finding that he could no longer be of any use, now left
the sufferers, assuring them how earnestly he would
remember them all before God in prayer, that they
might receive that support which no human power
could impart. Miriam would have remained the night
with Edith, but Mrs. Stuart would not permit it. Noth-
ing, she said, could be done, and Helen and Jessie were
sufficient to aid in watching her throughout the night.
Mr. Howard therefore offered to escort Miss Durvan
home, and both accordingly took their leave, Miriam
promising to return early the ensuing day, and Mr.
Howard whenever he heard that he could administer
the smallest comfort.

The return of another day awakened Edith to a
renewal of all her sufierings, but her mind was more
calm and resigned than could have been expected
from a disposition naturally so impetuous. H^r
thoughts still dwelt upon the desire of going to her
lover ; but convinced indeed of her utter helplessness,
she listened with much forbearance to the affectionate
entreaties of Miriam and her sister, who were now
mutually engaged in dissuading her from such a de-
sign. It was remarkable that the idea of Edward
having written to her had never entered her mind;
consequently, his letters, had without difficulty been
concealed ; neither had they ventured to tell her that
his execution was already appointed, anxious to keep
it from her till all was over. Mr. Howard and Mrs.
Stuart had both written to him in terms of the most
Christian solicitude, telling him of Edith's state of
mind and health, which prevented her return to him,
offering their entire forgiveness, and affectionately
urging him to pass the remainder of his time in en*

MIRIAM. 149

deaTaring to make his peace with God. All this was
unknojv^n to Edith, and she was tenderly solicitious to
learn the state of his mind. * If/ saia she, * I could
only be assured of his penitence, and of his willing-
ness to submit his soul to God, earnestly desiring to
lead a new life, if spared, or to die a Christian, meek-
ly believing on Him who could save him, I think I
could feel happy and be thankful ; but O Helen ! who
but himself can tell me all this ? No, I must — I will
go ; for his very soul's salvation may depend upon my
seeing him. Who is there about him to tell him the
glad tidings of the gospel ? Who else but I, would
patiently lead his restless, guilty mind to fix on heaven-
ly things ? Indeed, I am a great deal better,' added
she, smiling, as if to deceive them mto the belief; * I
shall be quite well to-morrow, and to-morrow I will

go-
Helen well knew the fallacy of such a hope, but

would not contradict it, fearful of again exciting the
mind of her sister beyond the control* of reason.. All
were for a moment silent, till Helen suddenly ex-
claimed, * Edith will you trust me to go, and I pro-
mise faithfully to fulfil all you can desire, and as faith-
fully to tell you how it is received.' Edith looked
earnestly at her sister, uncertain how far she could
trust another with a mission so nearly concerning her-
self, but aware of her situation, she felt that there
could be no alternative. * You go!' she at length
hesitatingly replied, * thank you, dearest Helen, and
may God bless you for such kindness to my poor, un-
happy Edward. Yes, you shall go with me, for it is a
sad, sad journey to go alone, ill and wretched as I am.'

* You must let me go without you, my Edith,' said
Helen, tenderly, *for he may want a friend even now,
and when you are well enough you can join us, and
he will then be better prepared to meet you.'

Pleased with the surmise, Edith exclaimed, * What
do you mean that you -would go to-day, this very day?

150 MIRIAM.

O, what a kind and tender sister you have ever been
to me ! Go then ; I will not keep you from him ; only
remember, Helen, be very gentle, speak kindly to him,
' and not in anger, thougn he should appear ill-willed
towards you. Take the Bible with you, and tell him,
with my dying lips I solemnly charge him to hear its
sacred warnings, to believe and to repent! O, you
can tell him more than I could do of God's all- wise
decrees, and where to find his promises of salvation
given to every penitent sinner, who will seek them in
their Savior's name ! Let him not despair, but speak
words of peace and comfort to his soul, or he is lost
forever!' She sank on the pillow, exhausted by this
effort of feeling, but recovering herself, she more
calmly added, ' An^ tell him, Helen, that I forgive him,
pray for him, love him.'

, The thought of going had been to Helen a sudden
one, and perhaps too hastily revealed, while, anxious
to adopt, at any sacrifice, every thing that could tend
to relieve or satisfy the mind of Edith. But she now
felt that she had been incautious, for it was already
Saturday, and the ensuing Monday was the day on
which the unhappy convict was to suffer. With the
utmost expedition she could not reach Liverpool till
late that night, and the \yant of money to take her
there might retard her design, if not wholly frustrate
it. All this passed through her mind, while Miriam
was engaged in soothing the agitation which Edith
suffered, as the subject was thus again brought imme-
diately forward ; and feeling that perhaps she had ex-
cited hopes beyond her power to fulfil, she burst into
an agony of tears.

* I do not wonder that you should shrink from such
a trial,' said Edith, touched by the emotion of her
sister, ' for it is a fearful thing to go, a lonely woman,
in such scenes of misery and sin. Wait, then, till to-
morrow, when I shall be quite well enough, and we
can go together, for indeed 1 cannot bear to see you

MIRIAM. , 151

grieve — and for my sake too/ added she, throwing
her arms around her sister, * when I deserve nothing
from you but bitterness and reproach.*

* Do not speak so, dear Edith,' said Helen, ' for I
would fearlessly walk the World alone, if it could save

you from an hour's pain ; but' she hesitated, and

Miriam quickly comprehending all that she meant to
add, 'affectionately reproaching her, exclaimed, * O
Helen, is it impossible you should thus hesitate for want
of means to go, when one is near you, whose purse
and all that she possesses, is surely as your own. I
thought you knew and loved me better than to feel a
doubt, where I have power to assist you ; and in this
instance, too, at so little sacrifice.'

The generous girl waited not foi^hanks, but spring-
ing from the room, in a few moments was on her way
homeward, and in less time than many could have
reached Fernhill, was she seen bounding across the
glen on her return, her noble heart aiding her light
steps to hasten the errand of benevolence. She re-
entered the cottage, her countenance blooming with
exercise and animation, and giving Helen a well-re-
plenished purse, she bade her be quick in her prepara-
tion for departure. But another obstacle arose respect-
ing the vehicle, the village affording nothing better
than an errand cart, which would scarcely admit of
sufficient speed to meet the coach at Ravensdale, the
nearest town from Glencairn through which it passed.
This, together with the difficuhies which she, as an
inexperienced traveller, would have to encounter,
made Mrs. Stuart hesitate on the propriety of Helen's
journey, an undertaking, requiring judgment and
courage beyond so young a riiind. But Helen, fear-
less of personal danger, and anxious to execute so im-
portant a mission, overruled all her mother's objec-
tions, and at length obtained her consent, conditionally
that she could procure a fit cdnveyance. This, Mir-
iam engaged to do, that nothing might retard the

•^-1

152 MIRIAM.

expedition of Helen, for she felt sure no difficulties
would arise, if kindness could remove them, beloved
as the Stuart's were by all who knew their name.
Nor was she deceived, for no sooner was it known
that assistance was required, than carts and horses oi
every description were readily proffered by each villa?
ger who owned one. Miriam, therefore, soon returned
with all that was necessary for the safety and comfort
of her friend. Mr. Howard, to whom sue had at first
applied, offered himself and his horse, and having
borrowed a car from a farmer not far distant, a com*
fortable conveyance was soon in readiness awaiting
the commands of Helen. Miriam would fain have
been the companion of her arduous journey, but to
this she knew her ^ther would not accede, and she
would not abuse hif indulgence, by making a request
which might have pained him to refuse.

Aware, however, how much a female attendant
would lessen the anxiety of both Helen and her mother,
she engaged a respectable woman to accompany h&t
friends, on whose care and fidelity they all might de^
pend, and for her alone the humble cavalcade now wait*
ed. In a few moments all were in readiness, and Mir-
iam, taking an affectionate leave of Helen, bade her be
comforted, assuring her that Edith should want nothing
within her power to give or procure during her ab-<
scence. < And remember,' added she, tears filling
her eyes, * that if money can avail, my father's purse
and mine will be gladly opened to the utmost to save
the life of a fellow creature/ Helen could only ex-
press her thanks with a look which spoke the gratitude
with which her heart was overflowing, more eloquently
than a thousand words. She pressed the generous
Miriam to her bosom, and without venturing anothe?
look, she sprang by the side of Mr. Howard, who silent-
ly but swiftly conveyed her beyond the sight of that
home, which but a few hours before, she so little
thought of leaving. Scarcely was a word spokca^

' MIRIAM. 153

daring that melancholy ride, for the thoughts of the
travellers were too sadly attuned to find relief from
S3rmpathy or communion. To God alone could they
each impart those feelings of mingled hope and fear,
with which their hearts were overwhelmed, and to
Him did they now inwardly upraise^ their thoughts,
endeavoring to resign the event altogether to his
guidance and disposal. They reached Ravensdale just
as the coach (hey came to meet was in sight, and
having seen Helen and her attendant comfortably
settled in their new vehicle, Mr. Howard gave them
his parting benediction, and watched their rapid flight
till they could be seen no ' more. Gladly would he
have gone as the protecter of Helen, but he dared not
leave his church neglected, unles# compelled by a
more urgent motive than he could now plead. He
knew that the chaplain of the jail in which Forrester
was confined, was one who would not leave the souls
of those confined to his care ignorant of the means of
salvation, and therefore felt that he dared not desert
the duties of his own vineyard. Slowly did he now
pursue his return. His heart was full, and his mind
busy in contemplations not' calculated to inspire cheer-
ful feelings. Life in its darkest colors just then
seemed to lie before him ; but he looked upwards, and
as he viewed the bright blue sky, where not a cloud
was seen to intervene betwixt his sight and heaven, he
jfelt the full value of religious hope, which, could at all
times waft the soul where sorrow cannot reach. O
what a hopeless, wretched being must that man be, he
.thought, who looking thus above, could claim no part
of its inheritance! Who, when borne down with
earthly cares, or stung by the remorse of conscience,
knows not where to find man's blessed Mediator, and
is afraid to think of God without one. The Christian,
indeed, may have his sins to mourn, and sorrows
which he knows not how to bear ; but with the one he
goes to the fountain of Emanuel's blood, where all are

154 MIRIAM.

washed away ; and with the other to the cross, where,
borne on the wings of mercy, they ascend to Him who
takes them to Himself, and sheds down a peace which
* passeth understanding.' Such is the difference be-
tween a child of God, and he who m^es this world his
all ; and Mr. Howard fervently wished that th^ time
were come when all the ends of the earth shall be fill-
ed with Jehovah's praise, and sin be lost in glory !

CHAPTER Vin.

Arrived at Liverpool, Helen immediately sought Mr.
Forrester, whom she knew to be there, and was re-
ceived by him with that feeling and hospitality so
characteristic of his kind heart. On hearing the pur-
port of her journey, the old ,'man shook his head, but,
gratefully appreciating her kindness, hoped that it
might prove successful in awakening the mind of the
prisoner from the torpor of despair, which ever since
his condemnation he had sullenly indulged. It was,
however, too late an hour to think of visiting the jail
that night; Helen therefore retired* to rest, better to
be able to fulfil the painful duties of the ensuing
day.

To Helen, the noise and bustle of a large town were

MIRIAM* 155

SO new, that she could not sleep amid the interruptions
of watchmen, carriages, and voices, which continually
startling her, roused her apprehension that something
unusual was the cause. Upbraiding her timidity, she
endeavored to compose her mind with a conviction
that even there, she was equally under the protection
of her Heavenly Father, as in her own quiet glen ; but
still she was not sorry when daylight released her, and
she arose early, to enjoy a sacred preparation for the
Sabhath festival, which that day was to renew.

Breakfast beiAg over, of which little, had been eaten,
Helen was anxious to fulfil her visit to the unfortunate
prisoner. Mr. Forrester offered to accompany her,
although tears trickled down his venerable cheek, as
he remembejed how soon would the.|)ainful duty be no
more required, and all be past of him, who had hither-
to formed the first interest of his own life. Tomor-
row, and he would be a lone traveller through this
world's wilderness, without one kindred tie to claim
his love, or give affection in return. And yet it was
not loneliness he jfeared to meet, for if death had come
the messenger of peace to his poor boy's soul, he
thought he could have given the boon submissively,
and only found in the bereavement another plea to
yearn for his own summons to a better world. But now
he must walk in the path of sorrow to the grave, for
self-reproach mingled with his grief, while he remem-
bered, that engrossed with this world's gain, he had
too little thought of heavenly things, and neglecting
them himself, he had not made them all in all to the
soul of his young charge. He had indeed early in-
structed him in the strictest morality ; but it had been a
system more of worldly policy than one of eternal
salvation : this reflection now embittered the poignancy
of parting, and must, he knew, remain a thorn with-
in his breast never to be removed on this side his
grave. /

Helen, who had never yet been within the walls of

156 MIRIAM.

a prison, shrunk from the thoughts of entering a plaei
always associated with scenes of misery ; and now, ta
the deep-toned bell demanded an entrance, her heati
beat alternately with compassion and terror at the &f.f
pectation of so soon meeting those terrific objects witi^
which imagination had filled her young mind. ShA
looked timidly at Mr. Forrester, but no stranger to the
place, he was occupied with f«ir different thoughts, and,
Helen gained courage as she felt assured of his protect
tion, and saw how calmly he awaited their admissioik
At length the rattling of chains annoiAiced the porter's
approach, and Helen for a moment closed her eyes, as
-* if to avoid the dark countenance which she believed
would meet her sight ; but the gentle voice which bads:.
them enter, at once quelled all her fears, and she HM^
surprised that he, whom she thus dreaded to meet, \i9Jlk^
one betraying no harsh feeling or austere command ^
and had it not been for the huge bunch of massive keys
which betrayed his office, Helen might have doubted
whether he were really the master of that dreary abode;
To Mr. Forrester's enquiries respecting the prisoner^
he was informed that he had passed a restless night,
but appeared less callous to his situation, and had that
morning for the first time expressed comfort in the
prayers and conversation of the chaplain. Mr. Forres-
ter looked his thanks to heaven and sUently leading
the way, Helen followed him through many a grated
door and mouldy passage, till, at length they reached
the prisoner's abode. It was not the dreary cell which
Helen expected, for although it had only one high and
grated window yet it was a neat, and not otherwise
comfortless looking room. She trembled violently, as
she now approached him whose sad fate was so nearly
linked with that of her beloved Edith, and whose
crimes had wrought such sorrow to them all. He was
seated by a table, on which lay an open Bible, and a
small book of devotional hymns; his head resting upon '
his handjby which he concealed his face with a hand-

MIRIAM. • 157

kerchief, while deep and intermitted groans expressed
the full agony of his soul. Mr. Forrester took hi»
hand between his own, and pressing it to his bosom,
kindly said, * Come Edward, look up, for you will see
none but those who love you. I have brought another
friend to tell you that you are not forgotten in your
afSiction — such an angel friend, as, I warrant, is not
pfien seen within these walls.* Edward hastily looked
.up, a^udden flush spreading over his wan and fever-
ish cheek ; -thoughts of Edith called it there, but frown-
ing, he quickly hid his face again, as if to show he
thought a (sfrs^Df er's visit an intrusion. Helen's heart
well nigh iwgfave her, dnd she felt as if she could no
Icm^er stippbirt her trembling frame, but she knew the
[tance of efery moment's delay, and struggling
lerself, sHjpj gentlylaid her hanaon Edward's arm,

sho. ^Mbf^JiM, * I am Helen) the sister of Edith
Stuart.' He^ 'started at a voice which indeed recalle^*^,. t
her, whom he haa tpo n^uch reason to remember welfc%;4
It resembled Edith^s, but it was oqo of more un- ^
common sweetness, for though 8|# spoke not the
peculiar dialect of her native counti'y, she j^ad never
lost its accent, which, more especially when her feel-
ings were excited, gave an e:^ pression to her language
of most touching softness, ahd it now seemed to rouse
in the bosom of the prisoner those latent feelings of
tenderness which had once been the characteristic of
his own disposition. He again looked up, and fixing
a steady but subdued look on the countenance of Helen,
said in a tone which might have softened the sternest
heart to pity, * And I suppose you are come t6 curse
the wretch who has been the death of your poor Edith!
Well, be it so ; all misery, at least this world's misery
will soon be over ! '

* No, thank God she lives,' said Helen, * and has
eent me here this day to tell you that she forgives — prays
for you — loves you still : and to implore you, as you
.Value your salvation, and the peace of her death-bed,

'iri

158 MIRIAM.

come when it will, to look above it all, and fix yoiir
soul on Him who has power and mercy to save to the
uttermost, all who will draw near to Him in penitence
and feith. Yes, Mr. Forrester, she bids you with her
parting blessing to look up, that Grod may fgive you
strength to die a Christian, and grace to meet jjifs pre-
sence without fear.' ^

' I rejected the grace which might indeed have with-,
held my hands firom past iniquity,' said Ed ward >-*an^
can I hope that He will offer it again because I ^ead ,
to do without it ? '

' It is ofiered till the very moment of the soul's flight
from earth to its last tribunal in heaven,' exclaimed.^
Itlelen, fervently ; ' freely offered to every soul, ei
when the lips have lost power to utter their feebk|j
for mercy. O did you ever seek that grace ? did^^
ever pray and earnestly strive to be delivered frqm tfie^
iniquity of your heart ? No, I am sure you have not,
"and therefore it is that sin gained its victory, and
brought you to this sorrow. But He, for- whose sake
mercy and truth are sent as united messengers of the
covenant to every believing penitent, waits over you
with glad tidings of salvation, if ye will only look up
with love and plead hia blood for the remission of your
sins. Fear will then flee away from before you, and
all you need for your soul's salvation shall be given.
Tes, Edward, ask and it shall be given you, although
perhaps too late for earthly happiness, or peace on this
side eternity.' ^

* I am unworthy of it all/ said Forrester, despair-
ingly ; * unworthy to claim the' smallest boon of mer-v
cy.'

* O take that very spirit of humility to the cross, I
implore you ! ' said Helen, clasping her hands and
looking earnestly at Edward, * for your entire helpless-
ness will best plead your need of that atoning blood
which can wash all sins away. Take courage then, and
lift your soul to heaven, wnile each of us here will .

•J

•I ' JIlBXAM. 159

l»

wrestle in prayei; •on ,^jp»ur behalf for timely mercy,
and believe me — ^believe^ihe gospel promise, tl)iat you
will not be driven back, but covered with the robe of
the Redeemer's righteousness, you will meet death
wjjhout dismay.' "

* Ah!' replied the prisoner, mournfully, *it is well
for those whose life has been a just one to talk of dying
ji righteous death; but from my very childhood I have

'one little else than sin, and do you think God, merciful
and long-suffering as he is, can spare his threatened
wrath from my accursed soul V

* We are all sinners in his pure sight,' said Helen,
^nd did he requite us good and evil as we deserve,

t one human being would there be, from whom liifi
rath could be justly spared. But thanks to his bound-
less love, you and I have equally a mediator to stand
betwixt our sins and God. 'Go, then, and plead to hin^,,
and his own word pledges ^our everlasting salvation J
only go to him in faith, believing that in him all things
af iejpossible.'

*Fne prisoner made no reply, and seetned impatieiit
to be released from the , cotiversation. Helen looked
ps^tied, but, forbore pressing the subject further ; and
after a few moments' pause, seeing her silent, Edward
b^gan his inquiries respecting Edith. * Tel], me I en-
treat you,' said he, * how she has borne the dreadful
% certainty of my condemnation ? She, who is the gen-
tlest, most tender of human beings. O it is her love
that makes a death like this so bitter !' *

' Would that you would seejc abetter love,' fervently
replied Helen, * a love which would take the bitterness
of death away, and change despair to hope. Thank
God it has raised the soul of our poor Edith to seek her
help from Heaven, now when no other comfort could
avail. She is resigned and patient to the utmost.'

* What then,' asked Edward, * is she grown callous
to sufferings which she once so sweetly, so nobly sjiared?
Can she be at peace when the sword of eternal ven-

'^-..-

160 MIRIAM,

geance is unsheathed against. $ii^? WBUd was not alway'i^
tnethinks, wont to be so easily turned to God — but it Jr
well for her and me that it should be so.* A bitter
smile passed over his feature as this was uttered, whieh
in a moment yielded to an expression of such ghcistly
despair, as made Helen turn pale with terror.

* O Mr. Forrester,' she exclaimed, * if you could see
that young and lovely victim as she now lies, like am
helpless infant, on her death-bed, you would better know
the value of that blessed hope, which enables her to
bear the sorrow you have wrought her, and not grudge
the boon which Heaven has kindly sent to mitigate and
support a life which is now, alas ! for ever closed again
all earthly happiness. You would not call her calloui
could you hear the piteous cries with which she im
plores God for your deliverance.'

* Does she then indeed forgive me ? ' said Edward;
cinching his burning hands. * O my best loved Edith,
would that I could hear a blessing from her gentle
voice once more, for it seems strange that she cai^ ao
aught but hate me ; and if in what I said I wronged
her, it is that I feel how little ^.deser^e her pity or her
prayers. Yes, I have indeed wrought misefy to you
all. Say you that she is dying too ? But you ne^
not fear to see her pure soul take flight, for surely God
will heap on me alone the dreadful torments of his
righteous anger.'

' Do not speak so,' said Helen, solemnly, * we
must each paytthe forfeit of Our sins, if, indeed, we can
dare reject ihe atonement which the blessed Son of
God so freely offers for their remission ; and believe
me, it is an awful thing to die and have no part ia
him.'

The wretched man could hear no more, for covering
his face with both his hands, he sobbed such tears of
agony and shame, as never perhaps before unmanned
him. The elder Forrester, whose tender heart could
ill bear this distress, paced the room impatient to hB

MIRIAM. 161

gone, and yet some feeling" scarcely to be defined, bound
him to where he was who was soon to be no more.

The chapel bell, slowly tolling the hour of prayer,
awakened the prisoner to a remembrance that this was
his last summons to an earthly Sabbath. O what an
awful, fearful call to a soul who dared not hope to- share
the eternal Sabbath of heaven ! The jailer entered,
and having bade his charge prepare himself for the ser-
vice, invited Mr. Forrester and Helen also to partake
of it ; which being silently assented to, they both des- ,
cended and took thejr stations in the place assigned '
them. It was a moment of solemn silence, and one,
perhaps, of deeper trial to Helen than she had ever yet
known. She hid her face to avert the observation of
those already assembled those, whose curiosity she fan-
cied must be necessarily excited towards herself, so that
she saw not the awful procession with which the un-
happy culprit was shortly afterwards attended to an
opposite pew, hung with the sable paraphernalia of im-
pending death. Neither did she venture to look up,
until wrapt in the devotions of a pious soul, she forgot
all other presence but that of Deity, to whom she ear-
nestly appealed for grace to help in that most' bitter
time of need. The service was devoutly performed,
and the text, ' Repent ye, for the kingdom of heaven is
at hand,' was touchingly addressed to the soul of him
for whom it was peculiarly selected. He was earnestly
called upon to dedicate his remaining hours to penitence
and prayer, assured that even at the eleventh hour, the
door of mercy was open to the cries of all who sought
admittance in the name of Jesus — really believing in
his boundless power to save, his infinite love to spare
us from deserved perdition. The prisoner was not in-
diflferent to the appeal : he listened intently to the ad-
monitory warning, and appeared wholly absorbed in
the subject thus so vividly recalled. His countenance was
indeed pale, but more softened than before ; and as the
minister affectionately closed his address with a solemn,

162 MIRIAM*

yet encouraging exhortation, the culprit fell on hi»
knees, and with eyes upraised to heaven, his hands
clasped devoutly on his breast, he earnestly ejaculated,

* Amen : and O may God be merciful to me a sinner I'
The sobs of Helen alone were for some moments heard,
in a pause which nothing was Suffered lo disturb, till
the whole assembly, as if by one consent, united their

* Amen,' and immediately a few sweet voices solemnly
concluded the service by chanting the hymn, * There
is a fountain filled with blood,' — the last sounds of
earthly melody which fell upof the ear of Edward
Forrester !

The congregation again dispersed, and the prisoner
was reconducted to his cell, where in a few minutes
Helen afterwards returned to him. He was greatly
s^gitated, and taking her hand, expressed a grateful sense
of the kindness her spmpathy evinced — a sympathy
which seemed so universally to prevail in his behalf
'O Miss Stuart!' said he, 'still bear me in your
prayers to God, for his kingdom is indeed now hasten-
ing on, and how little meet is a soul like mine to stand
the ordeal of his holy presence ! — the tribunal of his
justice ! And yet, I do believe that he has mercy even
for me; for if human beings who know not half my
sufferings can feel a pity which I thought angels only
could have given — how-much more can He, who is in-
finite in compassion and knoweth all things, feel the
inward woe of souls, for whose redemption he in pity
died and suffered ! O yes, I do believe that he will
teach me even yet to bear it all ! ' . •

' Thank God for this ! ' ex,claimed Helen, clasping
her hands to heaven, * He is indeed long suffering and
of abundant mercy. All our days shall we render praise
for grace which can thus awaken the sinner's soul from
the dreadful torpor of despair ; anfl if you can die thus
trusting, thus believing on the name and power of Jesus
our Savior, then, shall I think of this as the sweetest

MIRIAM. 163

Sabbat of my life, although in my own strength I
could ill have borne its bitterness.'

Fdtrester again expressed the gratitude which he
really felt for all her kindness, then mournfully replied,
• Aye, indeed, much as we boast of man's strength,
and huftian courage, how can either avail in the hour
of death or tribulation ? A new-born infant is less
weak than a sinner when standing on the threshold of
eternity.'

* And may this sense of weakness, Mr. Forrester,
lead you entirely to rest on th^ gracious arm of our
righteous, pitying Savior, whose strength is all we
need, to bear us to our heavenly Father's love ! O if
oar poor heart-stricken Edith can but know that you
are a willing candidate for the covenant of salvation,
she will be happy even in all her sufferings — she asks
no more to bless the remaining days of her sad life,
and then this indeed would be remembered as a day of
mercy to all who love you.'

* Love me ! did you say ? ' exclaimed Forrester, * is
it possible that aught on earth can love a wretch like
rae ? I thought that none but my sweet Edith could
have even pitied me, and yet you too can talk of loving
me.'

* Yes, Mr. Forrester, your soul is most dear to us
all — your sins alone we hated, and if God vouchsafes
to pardon these, we who are alike so frail can scarcely
dare remember them against a fellow-penitent.'

* And can Edith too feel all this for one who has
thrown such sorrow over her young life? Well may
it be said that beautiful are the paths of Christian love,
which teaches charity how to cast the veil of mercy
on another's guilt. O Miss Stuart ! deeply as I have
wronged that dear and lovely girl, God knows her hap-
piness was the sweetest dream that fancy ever reared
within my mind, and any thing on earth would I have
done to win it. O tell her this, and say, if I deceived
her, it was because I first deceived myself— for I would

164 MIRIAM^

gladly have met the utmost of lifers misery, rath||&rAHl
have marred one moment's welfare of her s
.^^ soul' The prisoner, completely overcome by I these
■%*^ associations, could for a moment speak no morle, twl
soon endeavoring to struggle against his feelingW Jje
faintly added : * Helen, I need not bid you be kinw to
her, and to forgive all that she has done against jjaet-
self or you ; for had she never met me, never loVed
^ me, deceit had not lured her innocent heart from God.
I must now pay the forfeit of it, and O,. if human
agony could atone, tha| which I feel would be enough
for all her sins and mine. But it is vain, [ know,
to speak thus wildly — may God have mercy on us
both ! And now to you, whose heart is too full of
Christian tenderness to deny the last earthly boon I
crave, I. solemnly implore your intercession for Edith,
should the breath of blame light on her — your pity,
love, and all that a sister, such as you, can give\ to
soften and support the trials of an embittered life.'

* He only can give support or comfort from whom
alone they spring,' replied Helen, *and may his
peace indeed disperse from all our souls the clouds
which our sinfulness has thus gathered around us.
But all that you can ask for her of earthly kindness,
believe me, I will gladly and sacredly fulfil. To this
shall my life be now devoted.'

• God requite you then,' fervently exclaimed For-
rester, * and may the comfort which you have bestowed
on me this day, return again to light your own last
moments with beams of blessedness, which the just
alone can know ; and, Helen, should you ever see a
fellow-creature involving himself within the accursed
toils of a gambling table, tell him, it was the ruin of a
mind which once loved better things, and might, but
for the infidelity which there it learned, have sought
for the treasures of eternity. Tell him the fatal his-
tory of Edward Forrester, and implore him with all
vour ang^el eloquence, to take a timely warning and

. f-

MIRIAM. 165

shun the delusive pleasutes of dissipation. Tell him,
that with my dying lips you heard me say, that the.
moment when I first lost the fear of God, that moment;
did the gates of hell open before me, and every vie
become my boast, until roused by the summons o
death to look again on God, I found I could not meet

his dreadful presence! Oh! .' He paused, then

covering his eyes, as if to veil from memory, that tremen-
dous hour, he added, * What madmen must we be to
disregard the word of God, to risk our souls for a few
false transitory pleasures, the end of which is so appall-
ing, even on this side of hell.'

Silence now ensued, for the heart of Helen was too
full to utter a reply. She sobbed bitterly, but still did
praise mingle with other feelings, to know the mind
of the unhappy Forrester so far awakened to his situa-
tion and his sins. She was, however, soon relieved
by the entrance of the thaplain and the elder Forres-
ter ; the* former, after affectionately expressing his
sympathy for the sufferers, requested that the prisoner
might now be left undisturbed, as it w^as essential that
he should have an opportunity to enjoy a few hours of
private devotion and rest. Edward^who really needed
the latter, made no resistance to the proposal. He
took the hand of Helen, and pressed it to his lips, as
if to express the gratitude he could not utter ; then
turning to his uncle, who stood beside him, tenderly
blessed him for all his kindness, and implored once
more to be forgiven. The old man fell exhausted
into the arms of his nephew, unable longer to support
his agitated frame ; and, locked in each other's em-
brace, they gave free veA to their mutual feelings,
until the chaplain interposed, and requested the visit-
ers to depart. This they prepared to do, and no other
word was spoken than by the prisoner, who eagerly
entreated to see them both again that night. Helen
looked her assent, and immediately following Mr.
Forrester through the prison, they soon reached their

166 MIRIAM.

own abode, and after taking a very frugal portion of the
refreshments prepared for them, they each retired to
.their rooms, wholly unequal to bear the society of

ch other ; nor did they, meet again until Helen went
\o remind Mr. Forrester that it was time to fulfil their
melancholy engagement ere the evening was too far
advanced. But he was apparently awaiting her, ready
for departure, a postchaise being at the door, in which
sat the parson who had accompanied Helen from Glen-
cairn, and several packages, denoting an entire re-
moval. Helen looked surprised, and asked Mr.
Forrester whith.er he was going, to which he replied,
' Not perhaps where you most wish to be, my good
girl, for we shall see our poor prisoner no more. To-
morrow is a day which would break your heart and
mine to witness here, and I go to take your where you
will bear no sounds of funeral woe.' Helen at first
entreated a short delay, pleadirtg her promised return
to the jail ; for although she had before dreaded the
hour of that last meeting, she now as earnestly Jonged
once more to bless him, whose fate so powerfully
claimed her interest and compassion. She acquiesced,
however, in yielding her own wishes to the feelings
and judgment of Mr. Forrester, when told that the
denial was visibly designed to spare the prisoner from
a parting which could not but distract his. mind from
heavenly objects, and aggravate the iporrow's awful
trial. Silently did the travellers pursue their departure
from Liverpool, which in a few moments was lost to
sight and sound, save, indeed, that the Sabbath bells,
chiming the hour of evening prayer, stole faintly on
their listening minds, and f^r awhile still kept them
lingering o'er the spot where he was suffering, oa
whom an evening sun would never shine again.

They travelled only as far as Preston that night,
where they remained the greater part of the ensuing
day, in a state of affliction scarcely to be described.
Here, tidings of the unfortunate prisoner were for-

KIRIAM. 167

warded to Mr. Forrester by the chaplain, who wrote
immediately after the execution, expressing the ut-
most hope that the poor young man was in a desirable
frame of mind. * For although/ said he, * huma
wisdom can but imperfectly judge the merits of a late
repentance, all that we dare, I think we may, in this
instance, hope.' He then related all that had passed
between the prisoner and himself since Mr. Forres-
ter's departure, in which much real penitence was
evinced : he had united fervently in the prayers which
from lime to time had been offered in his behalf by
the chaplain and jailer, who had alternately attended
him throughout the night, and had awaited death with
unrepining submission, calm, but not hardened :
avowing the justice of his doom, and apparently pre-
pared for the ordeal before him. He had expressed
no personal wish, and although he had appeared to
expect the return of his uncle and Helen with some
degree of impatience, yet when told that he could see
them no more, he simply raised his eyes to heaven,
and said, * All things are wisely, mercifully done, and
now earth may pass away as quickly as it will. May
God be merciful to me, and shower down a thousand
blessings on those who have so nobly, and so sweetly
borne the injuries I have wrought them.'

He then gratefully acknowledged the kindness of
all his attendants, commending them to heaven ; after
which he recurred to no earthly subject, and the world
seemed indeed to have passed away from his soul.
Language could very inadequately describe the feelings
of Mr. Forrester and Helen on reading this detail
— feelings of mingled terror, hope, submission, and
sorrow ! But all was finished, and the soul of the de-
parted culprit in the hands of Him whose ways are
unsearchable, and whose wisdom is beyond the reach
of human comprehension.

Mr. Forrester would not leave Helen until they
reached Ravensdale, where Mr. Howard had appointed

168 MIRIAM.

to meet her. Here he took an affectionate leave of
his young charge, at the same time giving her a packet
V for her unfortunate sister, containing papers which
4;^ would entitle her to receive an annuity for life of fifty
pounds, the only compensation which, he said, could
now be made for the sufferings which his ill-fated
nephew had cost her ; then anxious to avoid an inter-
view with Mr. Howard, he hastily left Ravensdale,
and pursued his cheerless journey to his sad and solita-
ry home.

The meeting of Helen and her family can better be
imagined than detailed. Edith, roused by the voice
of her sister, sprang from her bed unconscious of the
weakness which had laid her there, and falling on the
bosom of Helen, she eagerly exclaimed, *0 tell me,
when he is to die ! '

* Never again, I trust,' replied Helen, solemnly, « for
we may all ho'pe, my Edith, that the second death shall
have no power to hurt him ' '

CHAPTER IX.

* It is all false, I tell you, child,' said Mendez, angrily,
impatient to end a long argument with Miriam : * it is
sophistry, delusion ; and false and absurd artifices of
the foulest priestcraft.'

* But indeed, my good rabbin,' archly replied the

MIRIAM. 169

laughing Miriam, as she hung on the arm of her frown-
ing teacher, ' you have not at all convinced me that it
is so, and I fear these bitter sayings will prove but weak
weapons, if you can give me no other, to destroy the
mighty barriers which Christianity has raised before
us. Well,' added she, still leaning playfully over him,

* I 'Suppose I must go, after all, like the lone champion
of a forlorn hope, to have my head fairly shot off by
the very first arrow raised against it ; for my poor
brains can wage war no more with a combatant like
Mr. Howard ; and I see my general is neither inclined
for a surrender nor a truce. But do not sigh so heav-
ily, raf dear rabbin,' continued she, endeavoring to
dispel the gloom which darkened the brow of Mendez,

* for I am not all inclined to give, up the banners of un-
happy Zion, only I love, perhaps, to indulge in wo-
man's curiosity, and came, like a thoughtless girl that
I am, in an ill-timed hour to disturb your industry ; but
as a due punishment for the interruption, do tax my pa-
tience with an hour's task, and bid me aid you in your
laborious work; come, give me that huge roll of
parchment which I see lies ready for its purpose, and
you shall see what a magnificent tree I will sketch for
genealogical labels.'

But alas ! poor Miriam was doomed that day to
probe her tutor's feelings, for even this proposal was
ill-chosen, and only cast a deeper shade upon his coun-
tenance. It had touched a tender string, and he only
answered with a muttered ' Pshaw ! ' which was al-
ways a signal to Miriam for silence, so she said no
more, but left him, to seek amidst the wild flowers of
her favorite cliffs a respite from those busy thoughts
which had filled her mind to overflowing.

Miriam had, indeed, with all the eagerness of an
ardent mind, sought to reconcile the difficulties which
she found daily more perplexing as she pursued the
study of the New Testament, and although she surely
thought to subvert its assertions by the testimonies of

V'.A'

170 MIRIAM.

her own religion, her generous mind received with a
meek surprise the striking evidences of a new revela-
tion.

Lost indeed in wonder, often would she close the iI^
spired volume, and, suspicious of her own steadiness,
wish that she might he a faithful adherent to the he-
loved cause of Israel : and yet there was a fearful tes-
timony against it, which, while she dared not acknowl-
edge, she could not wholly disbelieve. She had never
before understood the design of God's mercy in the
promise of a Messiah as she now did, as it stood re-
vealed in the mission of Jesus Christ. It was a beau-
tiful and happy vision in her mind that all mankind,
and not Israel alone, might be reconciled to an offend-
ed God. Salvation, as offered in the gospel, appeared
to her a perfect union of all the attributes of Jehovah.
She could discover no inconsistencies in the sufferings
of Christ, with the former prophecies of a Messiah, when
impartially and carefully compared together in Jesus of
Nazareth. In him she could understand how perfect-
ly^* mercy and truth ' had met; and that in the atone-
ment thus fulfilled, * righteousness and peace ' had in-
deed * kissed each other.' It is true she felt it a great
mystery, how God, in whose sovereign command are
all the powers of earth and heaven, could become man
in Christ, and condescend to partake the infirmities of
our bodies — to bear the weight of such unequalled
sufferings. But many were the mysteries of Provi-
dence, and she could believe that He who made all
things, could likewise unite himself to humanity, and
in the fulness of his boundless love, satisfy the claims
required of justice, by bearing even in himself the pen-
alty it asked for man's depravity; and therefore, in the
humility of child-like submission, she desired to believe
the truth only as he had seen fit to reveal it, without at-
tempting to raise the veil which in wisdom had been
thrown across the rest. She loved, however, to trace
the foundations of the Christian religion. The subject.

MIRIAM. 171

even apart from its importance, interested her; and
she thought it a heautiful compendium of faith and
practice, such as she had never met in Mishna or the
Talmud. It reconciled the difficulties of the old law,
and brought home to the heart all those requirements
due from man to God, without mingling either the
superstitious dread of Deity which ignorance imbibes,
or a Pharisaical merit of outward obedience, which,
from her own experience, she felt could little cleanse
the soul, or satisfy an awakened conscience. This
conviction was, nevertheless, now daily becoming a
source of increased uneasiness. She well remembered
the fatal malediction which had fallen from her father's
lips upon Christianity, and ill could she bear to forfeit
his blessing by an open avowal of her sentiments ; al-
though as little could her candid mind rest satisfied,
while she was deceiving his confidence, and perhips
perverting his fond indulgence to a snare. Reproach-
ing herself for this, many times did she leave her ,
books, resolved at once to declare those new impres-
sions which the Christian creed had excited, but ere
she reached her fathers study the resolution had died
away. ' For, afler all,' thought she, * I am not yet
convinced, neither do I wish to leave the fold of Is-
rael ; then why should I cloud my father's happiness
by raising a suspicion so fatal to his peace?' Thus
reasoning away her scruples, the concession was still
delayed, and although against her will, her opinions
daily gained ground in favor of Christianity. Had
she indeed strictly obeyed the dictates of an unbiassed
conscience, she would probably have scorned to dis-
gxiise, even at the risk of a parent's frown, feelings
which she knew to be so important to them both ; but
Miriam was not perfect, and like the rest of human
kind, she found an unction to justify the fraud and si-
lence of self-reproach.

On leaving the rabbin, afler her morning's argument,
jhe now sought her father, whom she saw wandering

172 MIRIAM. 1

towards the rustic bridge which he had erected across
the Avona to facilitate his daughter's visits to Glen-
cairn. He heard her sprightly voice, ch?iniing some
wild and bird-like melody, ais she ran down the clifl
above him ; and always joyous at her approach, he
stopped to watch her descent, whistling an echo to her
song, that it might attract her more directly to the spot
where he fondly lingered to await her. ' Pray what
new pasture has my young gazelle found out,' said he
playfully, * that the plains of Glencairn have been thus
forsaken ? I surely thought to have found you feeding
amongst the flowers of the valley, but neither brook
nor daisy have seen you there this day.'

* In truth they have not,' replied Miriam, * and most
woefully do I feel the lack of their sweet nourishment;
for I have been starving at a feast.'

* And yet, my child,' said Imlah, fondly patting her
cheek, ' methinks it has at least fed this laughing face
with roses, for I see no marks of woe.'

* No, no,' replied Miriam, * my starvation has been
a mental one, my brains alone are lacking diet.'

* What then ! is thegrotto at last in fault ? I thought
Elysium was not more fruitful.'

* Nor is it, but woman's curiosity allured her from
Paradise, and the same evil led me from my grotto to
the rabbin, to whom I went, as fei child goes to a ban-
quet on a holiday, expecting to find the richest fruits of
lore only waiting a gathering ; but alas] I found them
all so enveloped in a covering of spleen, that I lost
courage ere they were disentangled, so left them for
the spoils of a less impatient appetite.' In saying this,
she took the arm of her delighted father, claiming him
as her companion for the morning. Imlah was too well
pleased with the proposal to resign the temptation it
offered, once more to enjoy a few hours freedom from
the busy thoughts which had of late so powerfully en-
grossed his mind ; while Miriam, allowing him no time
to hesitate, led the way through many a winding maze

MIRIAM. 173

of fern and bramble, as she clambered along the wild
banks of the Avona to attain an eminence, from which,
she said, they might enjoy the richest landscape nature
had thrown around them. Here for a while they rest-
ed, and every object of earth and heaven were themes
of admiration to tl^e ardent mind ol Miriahi. A cot-
t%e, romantically situated on the declivity of a luxuri-
ant cliff, over-hanging the river where it branched out
into a wider channel, more peculiarly attracted her, and
she declared that it was a spot beyond all others most
calculated for repose and happiness. , ,

Imlah smiled as he looked upon the bright counte-
nance of his child, and wished he could preserve her
from that sad experience, which so soon must teach her
the fallacy, of her visionary 'expectations. *Alas!
Miriam,' said he, * nature may smile in all her wont-
ed beauty upon man's abode, as even there she does,
and yet have little power to awaken joy within the
heart.'

* True dear father, and yet surely happiness may be
heightened by scenery like this; whrle neither the
cares of ambition, nor the thirst of power, which so con-
tinually embitter a higher sphere, can disturb the sleep
of peasants, who have only to labor and enjoy the sure
reward of daily industry.'

' But can poverty, or sickness, or none of those do-
mestic evils, which not only assail the destiny of all
men, but fall with double weighi on the humbler walks
of life — can none of the§e throw a dark veil over a
beautiful landscape, and cast a shade betwixt nature and
the heart ? '

'Ah ! dearest father,' exclaimed Miriam, ' well may
/ in fancy draw scenes of other's bliss, forgetful of
their sufferings. I, who have ever been the spoiled
child of a parent's love, and know so little of misery
beyond its name; for you have kept one heart at least
ignorant of its bitterness.'

Tears filled the eyes of Miriam, as she silently press-

174 MIRIAM.

ed the hand of her father in token of that grateful con-
viction of his indulgence, which language could so fee-
bly express and then added, smiling, ' But come let us
go down to lAy paradise of fancy, and see how far its
rustic tenants realise the picture I would fain sketch
for them. I have long wished to extend my rambles
thither, but wanted you to lead me in so wild a chac#
However disinclined Imlah might at all times feel to
hold communion with bis fellow creatures, the wishes of
his child seldom failed to overrule his gloomy preju-
dice ; but now as she hung on his arm, the tears of fil-
ial gratitude still glistened in her beaming eyes, he felt
that less than ever could she have asked any thing be-
yond his will to grant her, while, with a smile repaying
all her duteous kindness, he bade her follow him down
the mossy path towards the glen, where was situated
the lonely cottage of which they were in quest. Miriam,
on a nearer approach, soon found that it was not all
which in perspective it had appeared ; for the marring
power of time and poverty had uniteti in destroying the
semblance of comfort which it seemed to the distant
eye to bear. Its casement windows, although embow-
ered with a ' richly laden vine, whose tendrils clung
gracefully around them, were still patched here and
there with fragments of paper, too plainly betraying
how ill the interior was sheltered against the chilling
blasts of winter. No sound of merriment, or laugh of
happy children, realised the vivid fancy of the young
Jewess. A small but neglected garden lay before it,
sloping to the river, on the banks of which was moored
a small boat, with a fisher's net hanging carelessly by
its side. Miriam, still anxious to know the history of
its tenants, beckoned her father to follow her through
the little broken wicket which enclosed these humble
possessions ; and gently tapping at the cottage door,
awaited unt^l a feeble voice within had twice repeated
ah invitation to enter. She immediately did so, and
apologising for the intrusion, pleaded fatigue as her ex-

MIRIAM. 175

cuse. * You are welcom"i5 enough rfeplied the same
weak voice, ' if you can rest in such a poor place as
this, for it's no fit silting I'm thinking for gentle folks.'
Miriam looked expressively at her father as both ac-
cepted tiiis unsophisticated hospitality, her feeliijg. heart
now fully assenting to the wretchedness be had pre-
pared her to find ; for nothing could exceed the poverty
which characterised the interior of her fancied elysiun^.
It was coinposed of one large room, in which was
scarcely an article of comfort, and the walls around it
were in many places so broken as to admit a considera-
ble current of air, which, even in this soft season, was
chilling. A tall and sickly looking man sat in the
corner of a wide chimney, leaning on a staf!^ over a few
dimly burning embers, with one leg supported on a
stool, over which was thpwn the remnant of a blanket.
His cheek was flushed with disease and sorrow, ^nd he
sighed heavily as he welcomed the strangers to his de^
elate home. ,

* You seem ill,' said Imlah, whose kind heart never
refused the appeals of human suflfering, however proudly
it would for itself reject the boo^^ of Christian pity ;
* perhaps you want more nourishment than you can
well procure?'

* Aye,' replied the poor man, looking up to heaven
with an unmoved countenance, as if forgetful that a

, human being had addressed him, ' I may say with Job,
' Even to day is my complaint bitter ; my stroke is
heavier than my groanig!' but Job found a deliverer,
and so shall I.'

* You speak wisely,' said Imlah, * and it would be
well if all mankind would put their trust in Israel's
God.'

* True,' replied the sick man, * but we are all apt to
put of that till we find we have nothing else to trust
in. It is n't wjth us ds it should be. We don't seekfirsC
the kingdom of God that all things may be added to us ;
but we go on seeking first the things of this world, and

176 ^ MIRIAM.

then when those go hard, man grumhles to* find him-
self a bankrupt, as one may say in spiritual things, witK
nothing left but a <guilty conscience, which day and
night tells him how greatly he has neglected God and
forgotteB him in prosperity. But I praise God that he
has not cut me off in sin, but hath * turned aside my
ways and pulled me in pieces/ He hath made me * de-
solate,' as Jeremiah says, * and though affliction has
taught me that .it- is good for a man to be in trouble that
he may oall upon God, and quietly wait for the ' salva-
tion of the Lord.' Aye,' continued the sufferer, his
hands meekly clasped together on his oaken staff, * and
suffer what we will, Christ suffered a deal more for us
than ever we can do.' r

Imlah here bit his lip with a sarcastic smile, but Mi-
riam seeing the storm gathering on her father's counte-
nance, prevented a reply by immediately asking the poor
sufferer what accident had lamed him, and what had
reduced him to so much poverty.

* The hand of God,' answered he calmly, ' and it's
no use to sail against his will.' He then related, in
his own simple way, that for many years he had been a
successful fisherman, and had by hard, although cheer-
ful industry, saved enough to purchase that cottage, and
had so cultivated the * waste,' as he called it, as for
some time past to produce many fine vegetables, which,
together with the rich spoils of the Avona, had supported
himself, a wife, and three children, in comfort and hap-
piness, uutil some months previously, when he broke his
leg, and for a long time was unable to carry his fish and
vegetables about the country for sale as usual ; but as
he had never ^ent all he earned, he had bought a pony
with his savidjs, which together with the assistance of
his eldest boy, then about twelve years old, enabled him
for a while to renew his occupations with some success.

* But, somehow or other,' continued the fisherman,

* things never went right well with us again. My poor
boy, as good a lad as ever handled an oar, took a bad

MIRIAM. 177

fever and died, so I was forced to work the boat alone,
and with a sore heart I went about it too, for to hear
the lad's merry whistle at the helm was worth all the
fish he ever helped to catch : but there,' added the poor
man, with a deep sigh, lowering his voice, . * that's all
nothing, for he's blither now, I'll warrant, than ever he
was whistling by his father's side.' He paused again
for a moment, then resuming his story, continued, * I
thought my leg would surely get well, for it was pretty
nigh healed before the boy died, but standing about on
it, as I was forced to do when he was gone, angered it
again, and though for a long time I was loth enough
to give up work, just as the fish was getting plenty, and
my bit of garden wanted it, yet I was forced to do it at
last, and now for these nine weeks have I sat in this
chimney side, while my garden arfd ray boat are gone
to rack and ruin, and everything sold to give my little
ones their daily bread. The harvest too is over, and
we have lost our leasing, while so many hands go laden
pass our door. But it is all the Lord's own doing, and
though like Job, I may well cry out, * The arrows of
the Almighty are withiii me, the poison thereof drinketh
up my spirit,' yet like him, may I find grace to s(ay still,
* blessed be the name of the Lord.' ,

* And may he speedily give you back prosperity.*
said Miriam, fervently, * and reward your pious pa-
tience with a tenfold blessing ! You will soon I hope,
get well, and then your pony and your boat, will, I dare
say make up for lost time.'

* My poor horse,' replied the fisherman, ' will never
help to get my children's bread again, and my boat will
stand moored this night, I'm thinking, by fflaother river
than that which runs through the glen.' 9

* O surely,' exclaimed Miriam hastily, *you are too
wise to sell your hqi^se and boat, the only means you
have of gaining a livelihood V

* Man's wisdom is foolishness indeed,' replied the
cottager, * when set up to cross the wisdom of God.

' ,*k

••'-V, • ■ >

178 MIRIAM.

No» no, young" lady, it was all to be, and what / i
to do was nothing ; for in my wisdom, as ye call
would have sold every stone of my cottage bef
would have parted from my horse, but he who L
what is best for us, left us no choice. He took
that away, but I know it was all in love,' added h
hemently, laying his hand on a Bible which lay
on a bench beside him, * for, * he scourgeth ever]
whom he receiveth,' and I am a sinful man to gri
any wordly loss, as I have grieved this day.' In
tinuation of his sad story, the fisherman then r<
to the renewed enquires of Miriam, that the
which he thought had been safely left to graze <
bank during the preceding night, had wandered
projecting part of the cliff, on which had been ]
some staves and a rope, as a safeguard against ace
and as the fisherman supposed, allured by other 1
on the opposite side, he had attempted to leap ove
projection, in doing which, he had entangled hi
and one of the staves penetrating his body, had
him on the spot. Tn this' deplorable situation, '.
the fisher's wife, found their favorite animal,
going the ensuing morning to give him a richer r(
^ut nothing could be done ; death had already re
him, and after a general bewailing over the poor
amongst those, who loved him almost as somethin
dred to themselves, he had been sent to Ravensdi
sale, and with him was lost the last hope of retu
prosperity. This stroke had determined the fish(
to part with his boat before it could decay for wj
use, assured, as he said, that he had now done
earthly gain, since lame as he must doubtlees 1
life, it would be useless to renew the labors of h:
mer trade : but he repeated his conviction that *a
right,' since in seasons of his well doing, he ba(
lected his Creator. * For many a night can I re
ber,' added he, * that I was too tired to thank
for all his mercies to me, and many a morning

MIRIAM.

179

I was too busy to ask a blessing on what I was going
to do, although He was never weary of goodness to
me. And could such an awful neglect of God and of
my own soul go without a judgment ? At least, I
praise the Lord that it has not, for S I bad gone through
this world without it, the soul of George Wheeler
might have found a worse punishment at the judgment-
day.'

' And do you then really suppose, that this little
garden can produce sufficient profit to support your-
self and children ? ' asked Miriam, dreading lest the
pious philosophy of her host should lead him beyond
the barriers of the Mosaical law.

* The garden is a wilderness already,' said the hon-
est man, * and little is the profit of such an unsightly

■p place, although the time has been when not a better bit
of land was tilled about the waste ; but I &ncy it will
never get bread for us again, for I take it, my hand has
done its last work, and when I am gone, it will be no-
thing better than a burden to a lone woman. But God's
will be done. / hope to go where there is no more
want, and my Mary will find help from him, whose arm
is better than an arm of flesh, for he careth for the
feitherless and the widow ; and yet, God knows, it's a
sore and sinful sorrow I feel when I think that I must
leave them all in such a strait.' A tear for the first
time now stood on the flushed cheek of poor Wheeler.
He could unmoved recount the sufiTerings of his own
breast,' but one thought of his desolate Mary and her in-
&nt boys, for a while overshadowed the confidence of
even Christian firmness. It was, however, but for a
moment. The tear Was wiped away, and to divert the
current of his thoughts, the sufiTerer raked with his stafi*
the embers which were faintly flickering at his feet.

* Pray who is the clergyman of this parish ? ' asked
Imlah afler a silence of some minutes ; * can he do
nothing for you 7 '

« I dare say he would not be backward,' replied

% .*.

^lJL[^yS....-^^

'.*

.s:.-i\i*K ::.:#.--

180 MIRIAK.

Wheeler, * but he lives far off the waste, and hiay be
he cares not to know how it fares with us ; but Fve
been thinking, that my Mary shall go down ' to Glen-
cairn, to speak to the young minister there, if so be I
thought it would give no offence, for they say Mr.
Howard is the poor man's friend and good to Jew and
Gentile.'

Imlah frowned again at this ill-timed eulogium,
while Miriam, heedless of the epithet thus innocently
pronounced, immediately urged his sending to Mr.
Howard without loss of time, assured that he would
Tender them every assistance iri his power. She then
enquired of Wheeler where Mary and her children
were that he was left so long alone ; to which she was
answered, that they were gone to Ravensdale to sell
some grapes, all they could now trust to for daily bread, ;
and also to find a purchaser for their boat. Miriam
looked at her father with that beseeching countenance,
always understood as a petition in favor of distress,
and seldom was the appeal disregarded, for although
Imlah professed to cast nothing to * Christian dogs,'
affliction was at all times a link betwiict himself and a
fellow-creature; so now he bade the sick man be
comforted, while with a kindness, unlike the usual
sternness of his manner, he recommended such treat-
ment of his leg, as his knowledge of anatomy and
medicine enabled him to prescribe.

He then desired his delighted Miriam to see that
proper nourishment was provided for the sufferers, and
on taking leave of the cottager, assured him of con-
tinued assistance, until something could be done for
his support. * For you are more diseased in mind than
body,' added he, * and good food will make you a strong
man yet : so keep up, and Miss Durvan will send yoa
all that you can require.'

He then hastily left the cottage, unwillingf to hwti .
the blessings which followed him, while Miriam
whispered a request to the astonished fisherman th^^

• >

f*. ' '■

MIRIAM. 181

the boat might not be sold until he heard from her
again. It would, perhaps, be difficult to describe the
feelings of gratituae which overpowered the heart of
Wheeler, and indeed they were of too sacred a kind
lightly to be defined as a mere human panegyric. We
therefore leave him to his prayers, and will simply add,
that tifter partaking of a meal of Miriam's providing,
such as had not beei\ enjoyed beneath that POof for
many a long night, the happy family assembled together,
in praises to Him who had thus graciously answered
their prayers for deliverance. The hands of lisping
childhood were clasped upon the father's knee, and
taught to give thanks for mercies which were still but
faintly understood; while the heart of the joyful mother
silently upraised for herself and her little ones, the
grateful tribute of pious adoration. '

' You see, my child,' said Imlah, taking the hand of
Miriam within his arm as they retrace(^ their steps
homeward, ' that happiness is but a name borrowed
from paradise — the theory of a principle which exists
alone in heaven ; and fanciful indeed is the mind which
pictures bliss, because nature profusely throws her
blessings here, only to give a deeper contrast be-
tween herself and man.'

* Or, perhaps,' replied Miriam, * to teach us that the
soul must fly to nature's God for the bliss we so un-
wisely seek on earth. Religion, indeed, lends her
wings, and * even as an eagle stirreth up her nest,'
does she call us above this narrow sphere, and yet
how very few will take their flight to ,God, until earth
has wearied the longipg soul with its own restlessness,
and driven her to find a resting place above ! O how
could that poor man bear the yoke of pain and poverty,
if Jehovah were not the rock on which his soul is
stayed 1 But to a man of God how transient is the
victory of affliction even though it cankers and de-
stroys the vital powers, if, while it feeds upon tte body,
it does but hasten the release of an immortal soul ! '

w ,•

182 MIRIAM.

* Yes,' exclaimed Imlah, with a penetrating look,
'to a soul sealed by Jehovah within the covenant of
Abraham ; else religion is only the unction which
lulls the soul to sleep even in tne cradle of infidelity.
The heathen worships his molten idol, and fondly
dreams that it has power to grant his soul's desire, and
the Christian carries a cross within his bosom, as a
sure passport to the joys of Heaven. In either case,
virtue or vice have little to do, for or against the fe-
vor of God ! But well, perhaps, that it is so, for where
* ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.' '

* And yet, my dearest father, surely the ignorance
of Heathens cannot be analogous to the faith^of Chris-
tians. The one blindfolded as it were, leans on the
false and feeble arm of human reason, the only chart,
perhaps, which God in his infinite and mysterious wis-
dom has required them to follow. The other has
received the light of revelation, and builds his creed
even on the laws which we have' taught them. Take
our scriptures to a heathen, and he will laugh at our
credulous assent to their divine authority : take them
to a Christian, and he will dearly reverence their sa-
cred credentials, and may he not, perhaps, have even
walked before us onward to eternity % while we, ab-
sorbed in the beautiful vision of prophecy, have hng-
ered there too long, and thus lost sight of its fulfilment.'
The voice of Miriam faltered, as she thus for the first
time avowed a doubt respecting the principles of her
father's faith ; but swayed by the dictates of an upright
conscience, she felt supported even under the frown of
so endeared a parent.

* What can you mean? ' exclaimed Imlath, dropping
the hand of his child ; * surely, Miriam, you cannot be
fool enough to suppose that pretty metaphor a just
one, or if so, pray may I ask what 'new system has
your wisdom discovered to prove Israel a stationary
planet in your spiritual hemisphere ? ' This sarcastic
rally was intended at once to shame away whatever

MIRIAM. 183

scruples Miriam might have found to excite a doubt
against her faith ; but it failed in its efect, for, al-
though trembling in every limb, she mildly replied,
• Divine revelation, which prophesied a Messiah to
the children of Israel, seems also, I think, to give v
Christians some ground for saying that the promise
has been already fulfilled. You have ^yished me,
my dear father, to study the question, that 1 might be
hereafter competent to refute it, but I own many diffi-
culties seem to defeat me, and vainly, have I hitherto
sought an elucidation from the rabbin. If Christianity
be false, why did not all Israel awaken to destroy it in
its very birth? Why, if the extraordinary miracles
wrought by Jesus Christ were but imposture, did not
the contemporaries of the Christian apostles at once
subvert the falsehoods ? But not onejvord throughout
the writings of Josephus, can I find to contradict the
assertion of our opponents. He speaks of Jesus — not
as an impostor — but as a wonderful prophet, while the
adherents of Jesus openly attest, that at his death, the
whole of nature, over which human agency can have
no power, became disorganised — darkness came over
the land — the earth trembled — graves opened, and
gave up their dead, and our holy temple was then rent
in twain ! All this the Christian boldly ventures to
declare, and yet my father, not one amongst all our
zealous patriots was found to testify against it ! And,
I own, I feel it a mystery, why we are thus left under
the cloud of God's displeasure, a by word and a pro-
verb still, if something be not wrong, and we unhappi-
ly deceived !'

* Miriam,' exclaimed Imlah, astonished and appalled
at this declaration, * beware how you thus touch the
accursed ground of Christianity, for by all that's sacred,
I would rather see you perish before my eyes, than
know you enthralled within its fatal spells. I call on
Heaven to witness that I would ' Imlah would

/ 184 MIRIAK*

have spoken a deadlier curse, but ere it passed his lips,
the pale, beseeching countenance of his child arrested
him ; for Miriam, trembling violently, looked as if she
were no longer able to support her smking frame. It
was now that every feeling of the father against her
changed to self-reproach — and all his bitterness yield-
ed to the tenderness of anxious care : he made her sit
upon the turf — rest her head upon his bosom — and
when a little revived Imlah renewed his fond endear-
ments, assuring her that he 'meant only to warn, and
not to ujjbraid her. * 1 was too violent — ^too hasty,' said
he : * it is natural, most natural, that yoUr young heart
should be deceived by that maze of artifice which
puzzles many a wiser head ; and I ought but the
more to love you for the confidence with which you
tell me all you feel. Yes, my sweet child, I know and
trust your goodness too well to fear the issue of this
important period. Come to me to-morrow with all
your difficulties, and I will soon aid you to unravel them
and show you that the righteous cause of Israel is not
to be overthrown by the false calumny of .Israel's trai-
tors. Say, Miriam, can a daughter of David's line for-
sake the sacred walls of Zion, because they lie in ruin
and sorrow?'

* Forsake them, my father !' exclaimed Miriam, all
the energy of her wonted enthusiasm returning with
the very remembrance of her fallen city. *0! could
my death but hasten the deliverance of Jerusalem,
even but an hour, gladly would I lay down my life in
behalf of our beloved people. Forsake them ! no, my
father and though I tremble at the mystery which lies
between Christianity and ourselves, happy should I be
to know it only the specious calumny of traitors.
Only help me to reconcile divine prophecy with the
extraordinary events attested in its fulfilment, and I
will bless the hand which will thus take from my
heart a weight heavier than it can bear. Only tell me
how Christianity is to be refuted, and gladly^-s-nay,

•i^

MIRIAM. 185

proudly will I go, the ambassadress of such a mis-
sion !'

' Your feelings, after all, are but natural, my noUe
girl,' replied IioJali, 'and I have been wrong to lea^e
you to the unaided judgment of an ardent mind, bat I
surely thought the rabbin would more patiently haTe
removed your scrulpes. Christianity is indeed too
specious wholly to be subverted, but the Talmud alone
will teach you its £iUacy, and convince you of the au-
thority upon which our expectation of a triumphant
and redeeming Messiah is founded' *

•The, word of God only can satisfy my mind of
either the one or the other, dear Either,' said Mirkm
smiling ; * but take me as your own pupil, and you will
not wonder that the rabbin lacked patience in teaching
me.'

• Well, be it so,' replied Imlah, ' for our religion
can stand the test of Heaven itself But now, Bii-
riam, answer me faithfully, have any of your Chris-
tian friends at Glencaim forced an influence upon your
mind?'

* Sacredly, I assure you, that they have not,' re^
plied Miriam, with warmth. * I first sought their
arguments to refute them, and have always been the
one to advance the question whenever religion has been
the theme of conversation between us ; neither have
they ever attempted to bias my mind unfairly. A
study of our Scriptures with what is called the New
Testament, has alone awakened those vague suspi*
cions which have of late so painfully engaged my
thoughts, for I own the coincidence between them is
appalling. But perhaps my head is in fault, and there-
fore my h^art suffers the penalty of ignorance.'

Imlah made no further reply, but wrapt in a gloomy
reverie, he silently continued his walk homeward,
with Miriam leaning languidly on his arm, equally ap-
sorbed in her own thoughts. Both however were
relieved. Miriam had at length conquered her timid

186 MIRIAM.

scruples, and nothing remained concealed within her
candid mind. The dread of a parent's curse had in-
deed nearly mastered her resolutions, and for a few
moments, wrought a suffering of mind and hody to
which she had before been a stranger ; but the storm
had burst, and still left the sunshine of a parent's smile,
^mlah, too, was satisfied that Miriam continued firm in
her zeal for the interests of her country, which he had
80 fondly nursed within her heart from the very dawn
of childhood — that she was yet linked to the destiny of
Zion, with a soul fitted for the great and immortal mis-
sion which he madly believed her called upon ^o jjecu-
liarly to adorn ; and for the rest he encouraged no anx-
iety, satisfied that whatever prejudice Christianity had
fixed on her susceptible mind, it would be but the tran-
sient impression of novelty, easily removed. He was
however determined, if possible, to expedite his removal
fromEngland, and in the mean time so to regulate and aid
her researches, as to quench that spirit of enquiry,
which for the first time he was now anxious to subdue.
Thus, still secure against all evil consequences, the
mind oi Imlah was pacified ere he reached his home,
and as if anxious to convince Miriam of his entire con-
fidence in her fidelity, he resumed the subject of the
unfortunate fisherman, reminding her that no time was
to be lost in sending him a supply both of food and med-
icine, adding, * And let him know, as a relief to his
mind, that whenener he can resume his occupations, a
horse which is well fitted for his purpose, and useless I
believe to me, shall be his own, and will I hope in every
respect replace his lost favorite. His boat had there-
fore better keep its present moorings; only you, my
Miriam, must take care that in the meanwhile it is not
retained at the expense of hungry mouths.'

Gratefully did Miriam undertake to execute
benevolent commission, and on entering her ma|^
cent home, felt almost ashamed of being so surroui
with superfluous luxuries, which hitherto had b<

MIRIAM. 187

heedlessly enjoyed. She hastened however to des<*
patch a trusty messenger with a well stocked basket
of provisions for the poor family of the waste, and then
retired to her own room, really overcome with her
long walk and the agitation which her feelings had un-
dergone. The result of the day powerfully engrossed
her mind. Again had she witnessed Christianity, no.
only in theory but in practice, the support of poverty,
the hope of the destitute, and the anchor of a soul
prepared to meet God in undismayed confidence, even
though seared with the frailties oi human nature, and
burdened with remembrances of conscious ingratitude.
And why? because for these atonement had been
made, the righteousness of another accepted in its
stead, and the name of Jesus Christ given as a pass-
port to Almighty love. No plea of self-righteousness
was urged by a Christian for salvation, and surely
none thought she could be saved, if merit were their
only appeal for acceptance. It is therefore 'a reason-
able faith ' indeed, which can embrace the happy con-
viction that our ransom already paid, we have only to
take part in it, and to trust in the merits of One, who
has by the shedding of his own blood, released us
from the curse of condemnation. There was nothing
in the Mosaical dispensation which seemed like this
to stand as reconciliation between God and man ;
she could thus also understand the law, as only a
* schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ,' and to teach
us how impossible it is to obtain salvation through the
merits of our own ri&^hteousness. She closed her
eyes, as if the light of this conviction were too strong
for her new-born soul ; or, as if already in the cireseni^^
of Jehovah, she feared to look upoa oif glQnom
jesty with a mind so udj
iksed in its priociplet of
log, she had hr mnoe Jk]
devotiont, ahboogli
said to feed upon

188 BflRIiLlI/

for the first time, the name of Jesus passed her lips in
prayer as she asked to be forgiven, if, in ignorance
she had indeed denied the Christ — the Savior of man-
kind. O who can deny the ' efficacy of that blessed
name, who has ever fervently and meekly carried it to
the throne of grace in behalf of an immortal soul ?
Neither did it fail to draw down beams of peace on
Miriam's head, for from that hour she was sealed with-
in the covenant of Christ, and made partaker of the
benefits of his salvation.

Miriam did. not again rejoin her father that evening,
a violent headache pleading her excuse for early rest ;
but she engaged to meet him on the ensuing morning
to commence with him a minute and impartial study
of the Jewish argument. The morrow came, but
alas ! far different was the theme of that day's medita-
tion ; for in a few hours, Fernhill became an abode of
mourning, and the silence of death sat in the place of
Careless mirth. The faithful rabbin, wko but the day
preceding had been so busy with thoughts of future
toil, was summoned from this world's labor to give
up his stewardship, and to render an account for that
which he had discharged. He was found by the at-
tendant who usually called him to early prayers,. a
corpse in his bed, having expired during the night, as
was supposed, in a sudden attack of apoplexy, proba-
bly occasioned by the disappointment and vexation of
mind which he had for some days past silently endured,
on finding the impossibility of restoring the genealo-
gies of Israel. Vainly had he patiently renewed again
and again the anxious and important work ; but each
time was he baffled by difficulties never to be over-
come, which, together with his anxiety respecting the
destiny of Miriam, so irritated his mind, as probably
to hasten the disease which thus so suddenly termi-
nated his existence. Imlah, whose love to Mendez
was even as the love of son to father, truly mourned
the loss of that aged and respected patriarch. He ^|^^

^ "

.•*- ^i

' ^ VIRIAM. 189

been the faithful adherent of all his joys and sorrows,
the counsellor of his youth, and the guardian of iiis
child — ^a chain of ties which he could ill bear to see
thus suddenly broken. But Mendez had lived beyond
the years of man. and iralah felt that he dared not
murmer at a stroke he could scarcely call untimely.
Poor Miriam was less resigned ; for death had never
before bereaved her, and little experienced as she was
to sorrow, it was proportionally severe; for although
the rabbin had often crossed her selfish will, and
marred the delights of childish mischief, yet, with all
his stern upbraidings, she knew he dearly Ibved her,
and now she remembered nothing but his kindness,
and all that endeared him in the strong claims of grat-
itude* Bitterly did she reproach herself for all the
anxiety, vexation, and needless pain her impetuosity
had cost him, and she would have given empires could
she but for a moment have awakened him from his
long, long sleep, to manifest that duteous love towards
him which she felt had been too sparingly bestowed*
O could she have foreseen that yesterday had been his
last of earthly communion, how would she have trea-
sured every word of even all his pettish spleen, rather
than have lefl him so unkiddly ! but it was passed, and
she resolved henceforth so to watch over herself^ as
never again to part from a fellow-creature in anger ;
for in a world where two may be so soon divided to meet
no more, it is an awful thing, she thought, to make a
last word bitter.

The remains of the venerable Mendez were con-
signed with respectful solemnity in the cemetery of a
little chapel, erected by Imlah as a place of sacred re-
tirement. The usual rites of a Jewish bmiiiMM per-
formed over him with affection and
not one heart of that little communit
just tribute of grateful sorrow at tl
ed rabbin.

^**

190 MIRIAM, ^it^

CHAPTER X.

The many additional cares and duties which fell to
the share of Imlah on the rabbin's decease, so en-
grossed his whole mind, that his engagement with
Miriam was, if not forgotten, procrastinated from time
to time, until its issue, which at first appeared so im-
portant, gradually . became disregarded. Superceded
by more anxious,. or at least more pressing thoughts,
tne impression so painfully excited in the father's
heart, by the avowal of his child, had died away:
while on'the other hand, Miriam cared not to resume
a subject, which now daily became more decidedly op-
posed to her father's wishes. Left thus to herself, she
still enjoyed an uninterrupted intercourse with her
friends at Glencairn, and as she increased in the
knowledge and conviction of Christianity, their so-
ciety became the more valuable and endeared. She
had, however, never confessed to them her change of
sentiment, although it escaped not their penetration ;
and while they judiciously forebore pressing any argu-
ment upon the subject, they endeavored imperceptibly
to. lead her in the principles of Christian charity, that
she might the more readily embrace its sacred founda-
tion. They would lead her to the cottages of the
poor, where she could best see the evidences of spi-
ritual religion, or the &tal consequences of its rejec-
tion : where the accepted peace of Grod sweetened the
toils of industry and the bitter bread of poverty ; or
where this blessing was wanting, she might see how
lamentably labor was embittered by discontent —
sickness, by mental restlessness and impatienc<

, . MIRI4M. 191

poverty, by thfe ungreatfiil murmurings of despair, and
death, by the a^^ral terrors of dotibt and apprehen-
sion ! In one cm^, the ■ promised comforter of a Sa-
vior's 'spir it sits behind each cload, to cast his surety
of deliverance like a rainbow over the darkness of. a
storjk.:/iii the other, the timid hand of unbelief shuts
out^^^sF^'j^bt of that eternal promise, converting eacn
blessing to a deadly curse!

Some weeks had now elapsed since the death of
Mendez, and smoothly had they glided * from the days
of the young Jewess, when, on one morning of a fine
November, that she was about to prepare for an early
vi«it to Glqncairn, she was met by her father, who
taking her hand with a cheerful smile, withdrew her
to his study, urging her to delay her walk for an hour
or two, as he had important communications to make,
which it was necessary she should at once seriously
consider.

* You have at last then, I suppose, decidedly fixed the
period of our departure ? ' timidly said Miriam, chang-
ing color.

' I have,' replied her father. * In about a month
from this time we bid farewell to England's shores :
never, I hope, to return, until it be to crown them with
the banners of a universal victory ! And yet believe
me, my Miriam, I shall not be less grateful than your-
self in my remembrance of a country which has afibrded
peace and protection to tbe persecuted exiles of Israel.'
So saying, be affectionately placed his arm round the
waist of his child, as if to satisfy her that the tear which
now glistened through the long eye-lashes of her down-
cast eyes might fall unchided. He then seated her be-
side himself, and began unfolding a packet of papers, to
while away some feeling of awkwardness which he evi-
dently endeavored to conceal. It passed however
unobserved by Miriam, who, believing that all which
could materially affect herself had been already related,
felt little anxiety to hear what plan was to be adopted

192 HIRIAH .

for their removal, and sat for a few moments silently
musing on the last words her father had spoken ; till
inwardly reproaching herself for yielding even to a
momentary reluctance, where the will of her parent was
concerned, she cheerfully exclaimed : * Yes, you must
love that sweet country in which the happiest days of
your child have probably been enjoyed, but I too <}esire
to be grateful : I know that life must be a checkered
one, and it is time 1 should leara some of its vicissi-
tudes, for I have enjoyed a long repose beneath your
tender care, my dearest father, and gladly will I now
share with you the toils of a more public life.' Her
voice feltered, for her he»irt misgave her, even as afce
made this firm resolve.

* Doubtless, my child,' said Imlah, * every faithful
Israelite must bear part in the peculiar trials of our ill-
fated country, nor can even the hand of a fond parent
shield his innocent offspring from the curse of our uni-
versal martyrdom, ^ut few, I hope, will be your sor-
rows, 'for your path lies' before you strewed with no
common honors, if you will only accept them with
that devoted zeal worthy the sacred cause in which all
Judah is called on to unite. Yes, Miriam, for although
the tree of Israel is well nigh withered, and all its glory
seems decayed, yet from its sapless branches shall spring
new buds of greatness — ^the blossoms of immortal fruit !
And may not you be, my precious one, the young scion
on which the last hopes of Israel rest ? as the last
daughter of that illustrious ancestor, from whom our
awaited deliverance must descend.'

* But where is the proof, my father, that I am so ?
Has the noble conclave of our German patribts found a
more successful genealogist than our dear Mendez ? *
asked Miriam, turning to Imlah with an arch expres-
sion of doubt.

* It is not because the Rabbin was taken away from
the sacred task, Miriam, that it is one thus lightly to be
disputed,' replied Imlah, reddening ; but instantly re-

MIRIAM. 193

calling his present purpose, he evaded the subject, and
continued in his tone of renewed kindness : * Your life,
dearest girl, has indeed been hitherto like a butterfly-
feeding on summer flowers, and gladly would I still
leave you to play out your day, did not our country's
wrongs demand a nobler sacrifice ; and could you idly
rest when Israel calls you to awake her triumph ? Gould
you forego the happy jubilee of her restoration, because
you love to flutter about the bands of a borrowed Ely-
sium ? No Miriam, the daughter of Imlah has, I am
sure, a noble aim, and will listen with duteous delight
to the high privileges awaiting her/

Miriam knew that her father's imagination too often
drew vivid pictures for himself and her, and she awaited
with a passive curiosity to know what new honors he
had prepared her, while with a languid smile, endeav-
oring to rouse from an appearance of indifference,
she said, * I am almost afraid to promise obedience,
however good my will may be to make yours its guide ;
for indeed, dear father, you weigh my woith with so
much love, that I think others will find the balance sadly
wanting, and so altogether reject the services 1 fain
would plight them ; but 1 will do my best to wear my
honors well, whatever they may be. Tell me, then,
what task has Israel td bestow on an inexperienced
girl, who can as yet ill-guide herself? Or does Me-
nasseh kindly meiin at length to rescue our sex from its
degraded nothingness?'

Imlah was embarrassed, for although Miriam spoke
in playfulness, it was not difficult to trace a heavier
feeling beneath the mask of merriment ; and knowing
that in some degree he had compromised the claims of
his child to a mistaken, if not unwarrantable zeal, for
the first time he turned from her confiding countenance
as she now waited the issue of her enquiry. At length
resuming courage, he at once entered on the engage-
ment he stood pledged to fulfil, and continued in a tone

-m

194 MIRIAM. *

of solemnity, * Your father, Miriam, has long since de-
TOted himself and all he holds most dear to the elected
cause of Israel's deliverance, and there is no sacrifice,
where that is concerned, which I hope could he asked
of his daughter in vain ; nor none that I would not
most gladly proffer. But thank God, in the present in-
stance, there is nothing required of me but to resign
my child to a happy lot, and of you, Miriam, but to ac-
cept it with a grateful heart.' •

* What do you mean, my dearest father ? ' exclaimed
Miriam, fearfully, and turning pale; * surely we are
not to separate, for I could bear any thing but that.'

* Do not be alarmed, my love,' replied Imlah, taking
her hand, * never would I leave you till death itself re-
quired it ; but your life will probably be prolonged far
beyond my own, an4 it is time that I should ensure such
guardiansnip for you, as would spare me the bitterness
of leaving you unprotected amid the trials of a world
like this.'

Imlah paused to see how far his daughter understood
him, but finding she made no reply, he continued^
* Menasseh Ben Israel, the greatest of our rabbins,
aware of its importance, haS graciously proposed an
alliance between his only son, the young and beautiful
Ben Ezra, and yourself, Miriam, and you may believe
how gladly I have accepted for you the love and pro-
tection of so powerful an ally — of one, whose mind is
in every respect kindred with your own — generous, ar-
dent, and noble ! as if Heaven, remembering with
mercy the sacred covenant made with the house of
David, had formed him to link with its last daughter in
all the requirements of glory — wealth— splendor —
power happiness!" Yes, my precious Miriam, Israel
indeed awaits you as her bride, and as such will you
ere long, I trust, be welcomed to Germany, where,
wedded to our young representative, you will be blessed
above your fellows, and be the pride, the hope, the stay
of all our alienated and triumphant people ! '

MIRIAM. 195

Miriam had hid her face with both her hands'as the
full meaning of her parent's wish first rushed upon her
mind. Her heart's blood swiftly crimsoned her dark
cheek, and filled her head almost to bursting, and then
again receding, left her as if the hand of death had
chilled her wliole frame to icy coldness. She could
comprehend nothing of the splendid vision thus raised
before her. She had never dreanA of marriage; wed-
ded to her father's happiness alone, she had never
looked for other love than his, never wished to find a
joy apart from him, and the very thought that he could
one moment wish her allied to aught beside himself,
struck a death-blow to her aflfectionate heart, as the
precursor of certain misery. This inward struggle of
contending ^elings was not unmarked by Imlah, but he
felt his honor too much involved in the project, and it
was too nearly connected with his ambjtious and ill-
fated patriotism, to suffer parental love to cross his
settled purpose. He therefore saw not, or would not
see, the real cause of his daughter's' present agitation,
but professing to attribute it only to the natural suscep-
tibility of her feelings, excited |5y the prospect of so
sudden an exaltation, he' only gently chided her ill-
placed sorrow, and bade her conquer that weakness of
spirit which too often subdued her better self Miriam
felt how little her father understood the bitterness he
inflicted, neither did she wish it revealed ; willing to
bear a tenfold pang, rather than impart one to the bo-
som which still, she thought, could never be reckless of
her suflferings, and thus believing, she sank down by
her father's side, and laying her head upon his shoulder,
she wept such tears as sometimes fall from a broken
heart.

• Weep on, my child,' said Imlah, tenderly throwing
his arm around her, * I would not check such whole-
some tears, but remember they must be the last that
fall, while joy demands of us a better welcome ; and

■ »' .

196 . MIRIAM. * •

'tis tehipting Heaven to prolong our bondage, if thus
deliverance is received.'

So saying he raised his sobbing girl, and Miriam,
soon composing herself, replied in a firm, although
subdued tone of voice, * Do not think me failing in
obedience towards you, my beloved father, because I
say that I can never, never leave you. No, while you
live, still must my |iiappiness centre in devotedness to
you alone, for never can I yield it to another's love
and when you are gone, then will I bear my desolate-
ness with a patient hope that we may meet again, and
cherish with a sacred pleasure the memory of him,
whose loss, my father, could be but poorly compensated
by all the splendid greatness you say is offered me.
O no ! you, who have been the first of all my joys—
whose love was the brightness of my sunny day — sure-
ly cannot, will not, wrench from me at once the bliss
you gave to purchase a passing glory at so great a' price.
Menasseh's son will find amongst the daughters of our
people one more fitting to be the pride of Israel than a
petted girl like me, who could but ill appreciate any
pri^^ilege apart from you* Tell Ben Ezra this, and
if indeed he be the noble, generous youth you call him,
he will think of Miriam as his bride no more.'

Imlah, trembling with the mingled passions of
ambition, resentment, love, and shame, paced the room,
while Miriam dared thus refuse an alliance which he
had pledged his word should be fulfilled, and yet ill
Could he upraid a denial evincing* a love towards him-
self so pure, so tender, and alas I so rare. He stood
before her for a while in silence, surprised that one so
young and flexible as she had ever been, could thwart
his will, and war a destiny fraught with# all that could
allure an inexperienced mind ; but nothing irresolute
sat on the expression of her countenance, which only
seemed still more decidedly to confirm the fixed re-
solve she had just utteredi

• Is it for this, Miss Durvan,' at length exclaimed

• MIRIAM. 197

Imlab, sternly, *that I have so fatally, so falsely in-
dulged you ? But hear this once, for on my sacred
word I will not yield a claim (on which the welfare
and success of our suffering country may depend) to
the mere waywardness of childish obstinacy. Your
father, Miriam, has solemnly and irrevocably pledged
his only child to the heir of Israel's crown, and not all
the tenderness of parental feelings which that child
may harrow up to thwart me, can change the firm de-
cree which I have sworn should be fulfilled. In one
month I take you to a destiny which none indeed but
a spoilt and thankless child would dare resign. Till
then I leave you to an unlimited enjoyment of your
own will and pursuits ; neither will I in that period
pain you by even a distant recurrence to what has pass-
ed this day : but on the expiration of that time, I shall
expect a passive consent to all that may then be requir-
ed of you ; or we shall part to meet no more on earth.
You must thenhe Ezra's bride, or forfeit forever the
name of Imlah's daughter.'

Imlah said no more, but hastily left the room with- ,
out venturing to look again on the pallid countenance
of poor Miriam, who, almost doubting her own senses,
had listened with a mute and patient astonishment to
the strange and dreadful decree pronounced against
her. But she was now alone, and relieved from the
presence of her fether, she burst into an agony of tears,
imploring the support and guidance of Jehovah in a
moment of trial such as she had never known before.
Imlah's state of mind, on leaving his child, was not less
agitated than her own. Mortified and surprised as he
was by the resolute denial of Miriam, to an alliance,
which he deemed not only so important to the present
views of his country, but so desirable for herself ; love
to her was still predominant, and as he recalled her
tender appeal against an engagement evidently repug-
nant to every feeling of her heart, he was well nigh
tempted at once to cancel the affianced union, even at

198 MIRIAM.

the sacrifice of his honor, rather than further urge a
suit which had heen so painfully received. But alas !
again ambition lent her power to silence every obstacle,
and Imlah resolved to smother the tenderness of a
parent in the zeal of a patriot ; * For after alV he
thought, Miriam could be a very incompetent judge of
what would really make her happy. Reared among
the wild flowers of the mountain, she had imbibed a
narrow view of life, and fancied that happiness must
be confined to glens and grottos, because in these her
ardent mind had revelled in the brightness of youth's
early day-dream : but he felt sure that as the wife of
Ezra — the leading star of Israel, and the pride or envy
of the world, she woula soon forget the pleasures of
retirement, and enjoy to the very utmost the exalted
sphere she was solicited to fulfil. Why then mar all
this by the mere indulgence of parental weakness?
Why suffer Miriam to destroy the happy destiny se-
lected for her, because he wanted courage for once to
make his own will paramount to hers? She was a
child, and like a child she wept for a moment to re-
sign a favorite plaything ; but give her a higher stan-
dard of enjoyment, and she would soon wonder why
she loved the last so well, and value the boon which
was in ignorance rejected.^ Thus arguing on possi-
bilities which he wished to believe beyond a doubt,
he forgot that Miriam was not a child, which in the
present case he would fain have had her be; for she
was one, whose mind, firm in all its convictions, would
never yield a principle of right, although to act against
her father's will, in any thing which could really af-
fect his happiness, might poison all her own, and
break her tender heart. But it suited, Imlah now to
think more lightly of woman's firmness, and he return-
ed home, resolved to engage the will of his child by
every eflfort of kindness and affection, unwilling for
both their sakes, to use violence or compulsion. On
the other hand, Miriam regained composure of mind.

«%*

MIRIAM. 199

under a conviction that her heavenly Father would not
leave her to the unaided power of her own judgment,
but would manifest his will to her by circumstances
which could best direct her decision. In the mean
time she resolved cheerfully to meet her father, and
never wilfully to pain him by any apparent reluctance
to his wishes, until called upon to act decisively ; that
she would endeavor to follow those injunctions of self-
deniali of patience, and of prayer, taught her in the
doctrines of the gospel, and avail herself to the utmost
of the advantages which lay before her in that short,
but precious month. For the rest she would strive
patiently to resign herself to whatever might be mani-
fested to her as a duty; assured, that if indeed her
new principles were of God, He would enable her to
forego all the allurements of the world for the truth's
sake ; or if, on a nearer enquiry, she found herself
misguided, and that Christianity could not be proved a
divine revelation, she would unhesitatingly bind herself
again to uphold the rights of Israel, and sacrifice every
selfish wish to its welfare and deliverance.

Acting upon this, both father and daughter met again
that day in cheerfulness and renewed confidence. Im-
lah add.ressed his child with peculiar tenderness, and
. conversed on such subjects as could most interest her.
He made her the medium of new favors to the dis-
tressed. Orders too were that evening given for the
fisher's cottage to be well repaired, and a promise made
to Miriam, that a sum of money should be left in charge
of Mr. Howard, "previously to her departure, for her
pensioners in Glencairn, that, during the severity of
winter, her loss might not be so severely felt. Neither
was Miriam less grateful than her father was generous.
Benevolence was always the master-spring of her heart,
and it now so powerfully awoke every chord of har-
mony between the parent and child, that they almost
forgot their love had been that morning clouded.

Nearly a fortnight had since this elapsed, and nothing

200 MIRIAM.

had passed during that time in reference to the political
projects of Imlah, who continued rather to lavish such
manifestations of affection on Miriam, that she almost
ventured to hope it was an earnest of entire reconoilia*
tion between them, — a silent pledge of future peace ;
and she d?ired even believe that the negotiation was
altogether cancelled which had threatened such utter
misery. But still her heart often misgave her, as time
thus rapidly hastened the period on which so much de-
pended : and she was sometimes induced to forebode
evil even from the kindness of her father, aware that it
might be but an effort to silence her anxiety. With
all these contradictory feelings her own resolution,
however, remained unshaken. She daily advanced in
her persuasions • of Christianity, and consequently be-
came the more reluctant to an alliance opposed not
only to her views of selfish happiness, but to all her
present convictions ; and she felt that it was almost
treachery against her father longer to conceal from him
her decided conversion to the Christian faith. But yet
how could she mar his returning happiness, and change
his glad perspective again to the blank of sorrow and
disappointment ? Could she l?ear to see those smile*
which now brighten his countenance like sunshine
after a long eclipse, changed to tears which had already
but too often dimmed every gleam of hope 9 Of kow
could she turn the bitterness against herself, th^ fond
indulgence of such a parent ? O how would he with-
hold it at all, did he but know that she was about Jp
frustrate his blissful expectations ! How would his feel-
ing heart be agonised, lishe were the only bar to his long-
waited deliverance ; — if she^ /or whose sake he had
borne a long exile of sorrow and abandonment, could
make captivity more galling, and rfenew a bondage
which, but for her, he would believe, might be soon re-
moved! Often would poor Miriam thus catechise her
feelings ; while duty still urged a principle paramQunt,
to them all \ and she felt it a severe and bitter trial to

MIRIAM. 201

yield the powerful pleadings of filial affection to the
more absolute requirements of a higher love. Beneath
this struggle of contending feelings, the health and spir-
its of poor Miriam daily lost their buoyancy. She endea-
vored, indeed, to appear happy, but ill could she con-
ceal the secret of deep and unrepining anxiety which
she vainly strove to cover with her smiles. Imlah alone,
blinded by an impetuous zeal, saw the change without
alarm. He fancied that he well knew the cause ; and
believing it only a natural result of oppressing circum-
stances upop a susceptible heart, he forbore remark :
neither would he appear to sympathise, save in increas-
ed indulgence, unwilling to weaken a mind wavering,
perhaps, in its resolutions. Buf not so her friends at
Glencairn, who, ignorant of what had passed, became
really uneasy, as each day seemed to increase the ill-
ness and dejection of their young favorite ; and Mrs. Stu-
art, at length, one morning ventured to express her anx-
iety for her health, urging her to apply some remedy
ere disease could materially affect her constitution. * I
own,^ said Miriam, * that I feel ill, but I believe it is more
disease of mind than body : but,' — she hesitated, then
fousing^ from a momentary thoughtfulness, she added,
with a languid smile : ^ I have been so little accustomed
to have my own will thwarted, that because the time is
conie to lefern the discipline, like an obstinate child I
turn from my lesson, and fancy that it makes me ill.
O, Mrs. Stuart ! how little do we know another's desti-
ny, which we so often envy ! I, who am, perhaps,
thought the favorite of Heaven, because on me is lav- ,
ished so abundantly every earthly blessing, would now
gladly exchange my splendid lot for the very humblest
in the glen.'

. Mrs. Stuart, who could imagine no very serious evil
in the destiny of Miriam, when Imlah, she knev^r, was
so unusually well and ^cheerful, replied affectionately
takjpg her bead : * Dear Miss Durvan, if indeed the
prospects of leaving a favorite home be the trial which

202 MIRIAM.

thus preys upon your spirits, and tinctures the rich mer-
cies of Heaven with the coloring of gloom — much as
it would grieve our selfish hearts to see you leave us
carelessly, still most seriously do I entreat you for all
our sakes, to struggle against the indulgence of such a
regret. None, my love, can pass through this vale of
tears as through a paradise. No, we must all take up
our cross, and hear it heavenward with a patient mind,
until we reach the glorious kingdom of the Lord where
alone the immortal spirit can find her rest.'

* Would it were no more than this,' said Miriam;
* for although bitter indeed is the thought of leaving
this sweet glen, and those whom next to my own pa-
rent, I most love on earth, it is all nothing to the weight
which hangs on the dreadful alternative of a father's
curse — or the sacrifice of every sacred principle ! But
here is Mr. Howard, his advice will be a relief to me,
for I declare to you, I know not how to act — or what
my duty is.'

Mr. Howard now unlatched the cottage gate, for he
was coming on a mission of kindness to Edith ; but
seeing her walking on the distant banks with Helen, he
was about to follow them, when Jessie, hastily pulling
him back, whispered that he must come in as Miss
Durvan wanted him ; *and do stay with her a long
time,' added the affectionate little girl, * for indeed she
looks very sad, and perhaps you can tell her something
that will make her feel happier.'

Such an appeal was sufficient to arrest the benevolent
Mr. Howard: he quickly followed Jessie, and seated
by the side of Mirianf, he kindly invited her confi-
dence, without appearing officiously to interfere in her
sorrows ; but the time was too precious to her to waste
in bashful apologies : she acknowledged her wretched-
ness, and without reserve, candidly related all that
had passed between her father and herself. * Now
tell me Mr. Howard,' added she, blushing, as if she
dreaded making the avowal even to him ; * tell *me,

MIRIAM. 203

what I, as a Christian^ ought to do ? — Yes, Christian
I hope 1 may now call myself, if a conviction that Jesus
of Nazareth was indeed the Messiah, can make me so ;
and may He eriable me to bear whatever his retributive
justice shall require of me, even though it be to cut as-
under the tender tie of a dear father's love, which seems
the very link of all my joys.'

* The retributive justice of God,' mildly replied Mr.
Howard, deeply interested in the narration of the young
convert, ' follows only the impenitent unbeliever. To
the rest He is a merciful and long-suffering Redeemer,
slow to anger, tender in compassion, and willing to cast
from his remembrance every iniquity. The sacred
blood of Jesus paid the ransom which justice required,
and Jehovah now asks no more of us than a contrite
heart, sprinkled with that atoning bipod, conscious of
its own worthlessness, believing in his almighty power
to forgive, and in his mercy still to loVe the children of
apostate men. O, Miss Durvan ! although the natural
heart, which falsely measures all by feeling, must deep-
ly sympathise in the trial that now lies before you, I
cannot but rejoice at your deliverance this day pro-
claimed ; for what are all the joys of a few fleeting
years on earth, compared to an eternal blessedness 1
While ten thousand saints are singing their hallelujahs
over you, say, can we dare lift up a sorrowful heart to
your gracious Deliverer ? No, my dear Miss Durvan,
for as these walls have echoed many a fervent prayer
for the very blessing which this day has brought us, so
should they echo our warmest thanksgiving in the just
praise of Him who has done suCh great things for your
conversion.'

* Would that I could indeed feel a joy of heart ade-
quate to the mercies bestowed on me,' said Miriam ;
' but I fear that I shrink from the warfare of Christ-
ianity, although I yearn to partake its victory. For
although, methinks, I would gladly withdraw for ever
from the world, and dedicate each hour to the worship

204 MIRIAM.

of my new found Savior ; yet when called on to con-
fess Him before reviling Israel — to be driven as aii
enemy from my parental home — O ! if I think of what
my dear father's frown can do,Avhen I shall own to him
my Christian faith : how one angry look from him can
harrow up my very soul — 'tis then, and then only, that
I think I could be an infidel again, rather than bear the
agony of his displeasure ! And yet now, when I meet
my father's fond, confiding smile, I shrink from it
ashamed, aware how differently he would look on me,
did he but know on what he smiled. It is this that preys
upon my feelings, and which haunts me night and day
like a spectre, whose ghastly terrors I dare not meet,
yet cannot shun. Tell me, then, Mr. Howard, ought I
not to abhor concealment toward such a parent ? and
yet how can I bear to break his heart, by opposing all
that he most desires?'

Mr. Howard, for a moment, laid his hand across his
eyes, then mildly looking up, replied : * The alternative
is indejed a trial of no common difficulty ; and He alone
can guide you, who has called you to resign everything
for his name's sake. Human judgment can but feebly
advise, where prayer alone, can, I think, avail yoii ;
but, my young friend, you must strive against the fear
of man, remembering that God should be ever para-
mount. You must submit to leave parents and home,
riches and every earthly tie, if these stand opposed to
his divine will. Take courage, then openly avow your
faith before men, and be assured, that when in the path
of duty we are ever in the immediate presence of the
Lord, who will not lea^e us to the power of our own
weak and treacherous hearts. Only wait patiently, be-
lieving the sure promises of his love, and he will make
for you a way of escape. He will * temper the wind to
the shorn lamb' — nay. He may make the very storm
you dread the messenger of mercy to your father's
soul. It may awaken in him a spirit of enquiry, and
effectually lead him to the same Savior who*" has gra-

• ' MIRIAM. 2Q5

ciously taken his child from error. Fear not to trust
the Lord, for never will he forsake you; neither will
he sufler the righteous to be overcome.*

Miriam, having now opened her mind and unlocked
the secret spring of all her sorrows, which had before
lain like a weight concealed, unpitied within her heart,
felt Already relieved, comforted and assisted, as if she
had found some surety of deliverance, or had been
within that hour irrevocably sealed within the new and
happy covenant of Jehovah. Tears trickled down her
cheeks, but they were not unlike the summer's early
dew which proclaims a cloudless day, for her counte-
nance resumed a happier smile than had played there
for many along hour. Mrs. Stuart was first to break the
silence which ensued, for each had been busy with seri-
ous thought, and seemed for a while unwilhng to dis-
turb the solemn rest by an untimely remark. * Thank
God my sweet girl,' at length she said clasping the
hand of Miriam, * that th^ veil is removed from your
eyes which concealed from you the glorious triumphs
of a crucified Redeemer ; but say what was it humanly
speaking, that more immedi^fely awakened you to a
conviction that the gospel of Jesus was a divine reve-
lation?' . ^ ,

* The striking coincidence of prophecy with events,
which appear to me, even by the experience of the
present time, so undeniably attested,' replied Miriam,
' and the beautiful system of redemption, in which is
so perfectly united all the attributes of Jehovah ; — jus-
tice, love, and mercy, there stand in all their primeval
perfection, while man is still redeemed without dimin-
ishing or compromising the dignity and truth of God.
So far can I understand of the covenant of a Mediator,
and of all the sufferings of Messiah in establishing
salvation, 'and I willingly yield my impious incredulity,
ashamed of having so long dared to combat, as it were
with the Most High, because reason could not carry
me throiig];! all the mazes of mystery^ to a knowledge

206 MIRIAM.

of which angels themselves are not permitted to attain.
But may God forgive my presumption and ignorance,
and take me now as a new-born babe to his Almighty
guidance, and teach me those things which shall make
me wise unto salvation. O my beloved Mrs. Stuart !
you who know how fatally I have over-valued human
intellect, can understand how humbling must that con-
viction be, which has taught me that the poorest child
in Glencairn is more advanced in Christian knowledge
than the proud and learned daughter of Imlah Durvan
— more meet to enter heaven in its infant simplicity,
than I with all my unavailing talents.'

* Humbling as it is to human wisdom to find itself
so secondary, you can never su^iently praise God,'
said Mr. Howard, * for having taught you the lesson,
at whatever cost you may have learnt it ; and believe
me, dear Miss Durvan, that as you advance in a prac-
tical knowledge of Christianity, you will find earthly
sorrows but of Jight moment, and spiritual enjoyments
paramount to every other. But as a new-born babe
that you desire to be in sight of God, remember you
must feed by degrees on the nourishment of heavenly
truth: be not dismayed, therefore, if you find the
word of God at first difficult to digest, but receive with
meek thankfulness even the smallest crumbs, which
you may daily gather from the divine banquet.'

* That is a kind and needful warning,' said Miriam,
faintly smiling, ' for this very day I was almost about
to question the authority of revelation, because when I
sought impatiently for knowledge, beyond my compre-
hension, I seemed but thrown back again from all con-
viction.'

' A sn;ire with which Satan would fain overthrow
many a young proselyte,' said Mr. Howard, * if for
one moment they go to the Bible unarmed with faith,
or unprovided with the light of a higher wisdom than
their own. But whenever you find yourself thus
assailed by doubt, as you value truth, let me urge you

.MIRIAM. 207

immediately to close the sacred voluir^, and wait on
the Lord in prayer, humbly seeking the direction of
his holy spirit ; and b^ assured, that if you habitually
do this, although you niay still find many mysteries to
baffle reason, none will' have power, to shake your faith
nor to alarm your mind with apprehensions of miscon-
ceived religion. The gospel will be to you a path of
light and life — a compass that will safely lead you
through the darkest storms — balm to a wounded spirit,
and the messenger of peace to an affrighted soul. But
tell me,' added Mr. Howard, smiling, * on what rock
did your wisdom so nearly mak« wreck this morning ? '
» On the union of God with Christ and the Holy
Spirit,' replied Miriam solemnly, ' a creed on whicn
your church seems to found many of its first doctrines,
and I own myself too tenacious of the unity of Jehovah,
as yet to assent to it.'

* Then you separate at once the very essence of
Christianity, apdmake a religion of your own, not that
which the scriptures reveal to us. Why,' continued
Mr. Howard, *be incredulous of a fact which God
himself has declared, because no finite being can ac-
count to you for infinite conceptions ? With as much
justice might you deny that man is gifted with a soi;l,
because the body on\f is discernible, and yet few, I
believe, will dare to contradict its existence ; although,
who is there thaf can comprehend the mystery of its
union with the body V '

* Prove to me your former assertion by the Old
Testament,' said Miriam, 'and I will not again presume
to oppose the doctrine. But there I find throughout,
that God is a jealous God, and will have no compe-
titor. * I am the Lord, and beside me there is no God,'
saith Jehovah. * Thou shalt have no other gods but
me.' * I am the first and the last.' These are but a
few of the quotations which I might deduce from the
words of the Most High in favor of his entire unity ;
and as coming immediately from him, they are, I

208 MIRIAM.

should conceive, unanswerably powerful. I heartily
believe in Chrilt as my Mediator and Savior, but I
would not so rob Jehovah of his individuality — if I
may so express myself — as to acknowledge another my
Lord and my God.

* When will that proud man, who is but a crumb of
earth, submit his reason to the will of God/ exclaimed
Mr. Howard, * without aspiring to comprehend that
will, or presuming to seize the master-spring of infinite
wisdom ? Were we less arrogant in our ignorance we
should be content meekly to believe the mysteries of
God without desiring to translate every letter of a
language too sacred to be learnt on earth. But so it
is ; ana God in his condescending goodness has in
some degree deigned to meet the enquiry of his crea-
tures, giving us revelation as a key to heavenly things ;
so far then as this permits, we may search tl^e treasures
of eternity. The very quotations you have advanced
in proof of the uni,ty of God, are amongst the most
powerful arguments you could have selected in our fa-
vor. For we believe the scriptures as clearly declare
that the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, form but one
God, as that each of these blessed persons partake
of the divine nature, and are equal one with the other.
The same Jehovah who thus d^eclares Himself the one
only God, from the very beginning testified the mys-
terious union of others with himself * Let us make
man after Qiir image,' after our likeness ; so God crea-
ted man in His own image/ and you Avho are so well
acquainted with the Hebrew scriptures may remember
that the word * Creator,' which our translators have ren-
dered singular, is plural in the original tongue, * Re-
member tny Creators.^ '

* The passage never before struck me/ said Miriam,
after a moment's thought ; * but I cannot . admit it as
a proof against me, since the word may so easily have
been changed by the carelessness of our early tran-
scribers/

MIRIAM. 209

* Then allow me to claim your attention to the stri-
king prophecy of Isaiah, concerning the Messiah, in
which is most unquestionably declared his divinity and
oneness with the Father. I allude more particularly
lo the passages : * For unto us a child is born, unto us
a Son is given, and His name shall be called Wonder-
ful, Counsellor, the mighty God, the everlasting Fa-
ther, the Prince of Peace.' This passage alone, should,
I think, silence all cavilling, foritsacredly bears evidence
that a child born was to be one with the everlasting
Father, the mighty God, the acknowledged Prince of
Peace. All this I adduce- entirely from the word oT
Jehovah, spoken by his commissioned prophet in the
Old Testament, which you will allow is too decisive
as well as too sacred, to admit a suspicion of its correct-
ness and divine authority.'

Miriam was silent, and Mr. Howard asked her:
* Do you not admit that the New Testament is also a
divine revelation ? '

* Certainly, in all essential points,' answered Mir- ,
iam.

* Every Christian must receive it as altogether so,
or the whole is valueless,' warmly exclaimed Mr. How-
ard; * since truth and fiction cannot exist together in
the word of God. Do you not allow this V

* I desire to do so,' said Miriam, hesitatingly ; * at
least I decidedly think so, whenever my reason can as-
sent. To the rest I yield a passive belief.'

* Then compare the prophecies of the Old, with the
fulfilment attested upon faithful evidence in the New
Testament, particularly in the following passages.
* Sanctify the Lord of Hosts himself, and let him be
your fear, and let him be your dread ; and he shall be
for a sanctuary, but for a stone nf stumbling and for a
rock of offence to both the houses of Israel.' Jesus
Christ is declared that rock, and your rejection of
Him has surely sufficiently proved how awfully Israel
has made him * a stone of stumbling, and a rock of

U .

•<*1

210 MIRIAM.

offence, even to them which stumble at the word, hiding
disobedient' Isaiah thus prophesying of Jehovah, or
the * Lord of Hosts' — that which has been realised in
the person of Jesus Christ — the very same Jehovah—
the ' mighty God.' Again, Isaiah declares ; * Thus
saith the Lordt the King of Israel, and his Redeemer,
the Lord of Hosts ; I am the first and I am the last,
and beside me there is no God/ Jesus Christ, when
revealing himself from his glory to the Evangelist, de-
clares : * I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and
the end. / will give unto him that is athirst of the
fountain of the water of life freely. He that over-
cometh shall inherit all things ; and I will be his God.^
Again : * The Lord God, of the holy prophets sent his
angel to show unto his servants the things which must
shortly be done.' Christ immediately afterwards de-
clares to the Evangelist : * I, Jesus, have sent mine
angel to testify unto you these things in the churches.
I am the root and offspring of David, the bright and
morning star.' These are surely most striking coinci-
dences, and I cannot conceive how human reason can
dare deny so sacred an attestation of the plurality of
the godhead-:— that Jehovah and Christ the Lord are
one — the same only true and living God.'

• But how could it be consistently affirmed that Jeho-
vah was the * first and last,' the great * I am,' if Christ
was afterwards to be received as equal to himself? '
enquired Mirieun.

* Becuse,' said Mr. Howard, * Christ existed before
the foundation of the world, as one wuh the Father ;
the intended Mediator as well as Creator. * In the be-
ginning was the Word, and the Word was with Grod,
and the Word was God.^ * All things were made by
Him, and without Him was not anything made. In
Him was life, and the life was the light of man? This
is a great mystery, my dear Miss Durvan, and far be-
yond human comprehension, but never the less, a truth

MIRIAM. 211

thu» founded canndt be discredited without committing
a great and drying sin.'

•And yet,' said Miriam, after some moments of

-d«cp reflection * God is revealed to us as a spirit^

whom * no man hath or can see,^ I am, therefore, at a

loss how you can reconcile the doetrine of corporalis-

ing divine essence.'

* Far be it from gospel Christianity to advance such
a sentiment,' replied Mr. Howard, * while it fully re-
veals the doctrine of the Trinity, it as entirely excludes
one so irreverent as that of corporalising divinity. No,
God in \ii^ spiritual nature * no man hath or can see.'
The doctrine of * God manifest in the flesh,' does not
advance the most distant idea that the divine essence is
materialised or corporalised. It testifies that the divine
essence manifests itself to man, in and through the hu-
man nature of Jesus Christ, who is the image of the
invisible God, and in whom it pleased * all fulness to
dwell,' even all the * fulness of the godhead bodily, for
the Word became flesh, and tabernacled amongst us.'
The divine attributes were perfectly displayed in the
person^ and works of Christ, who stands revealed to us
as mysteriously united to the Divine essence, in and
through his human nature. For *as the reasonable
soul and flesh is one man,' so * God and man is one
Christ.' This doctrine does not corporalise either the
reasonable soul, or the divine essence, but declares it
to be * one not by conversion of the godhead into flesh,
but by taking the manhood into God.' Consistently
with this, did Christ declare himself one with God,
when he said : * He that hated me, hateth my Father
also ; ' and again, when Philip said unto Him : * Lord,
show us the Father, and it sufiiceth us :' Jesus saith
unto him, *have /been so long time with you, and yet
hast thou not known me, Philip ? He that hath seen
me hath seen the Father ; how sayest thou then, show
us the Father % '

Miriam meekly assented to this, and Mr. Howard,

212 MIRIAM.

anxious to embrace every opportunity of fortifying het
mind against such difficulties as be knew would most
likely stagger ber faitb, continued : * You see, ray dear
.Miss Durvan, bow well can tbe word of God bear the
Strictest scrutiny of human enquiry, for although reve-
lation may often baffle reason, reason can never subvert
the Holy Scriptures. You are yet an infant in the
knowledge of their glorious truths, and as you have
hitherto trusted too much to the power of your own
reason, so it behoves you now the more to humble it,
by a child-like submission to the revealed word of
God.'

* I quite believe so,' said Miriam, * and I wish all
Israel would be persuaded of the like, for alas ! I fear
it is this very pride of human reason which has so , fii-
tally blindea us against revelation. But I think I can
now more satisfactorily accede to the mystical union of
the Trinity as analogous to the union of body and soul,
which is alike incomprehensible ; and I thank you sin-
cerely for your elucidations. And now, Mr. Howard,
may I ask what is the difference between the soul and
spirit, which hitherto I have supposed synonymous, but
I find the apostle Paul distinguishes them separately,
as if possessing distinct powers T

* Most undoubtedly they do so,' replied Mr. How-
ard ; * the soul is that part of man which perceives,
thinks, and reflects ; receiving impressions of outward
objects only through the medium of the senses. Thus
we may imagine that the soul is a substance pervading
the whole human frame, capable of being moved or
affected by outward objects, endued with a power of
retaining their impressions, and of making reflections
upon them. All our knowledge is consequently deriv-
ed originally from sense ; hence it appears that the soul
is peculiarly adapted to this visible and material world.
Now if we enter further into the recesses of our own
breasts, we cannot but find that something exists within
us, independent of all corporal objects and ideas ; some-

MIRIAM. 213

thing" that approves or condemns us — something that
checks our career of folly — embitters the pleasures of
sin, and tells us how vain and transient are their enjoy-
ments. This inward principle discerns to us, that, en-
joy what we will outwardly, we are ever seeking y«t
never satisfied ; and although honor, power, riches,
and earthly pleasure, may for a time stifle, yet these
can never eitner satisfy or destroy it. This inward
principle then, which is neither dependent upon, nor
capable of being satisfied with,any corporeal object, must
be something really distinct, and different from it : and
this is that part of man called in Scripture the s'pirit or
the inward man, designated in common language con-
science. This power, or supreme spirit, is of a nobler
nature than the rational soul, for it can be influenced
by no created power. Its desires are infinite, and con-
sequently, all its objects are in their nature infinite, pow-
erful, and spiritual. Thus is it that we are ever rest-
less, dissatisfied, and ionging for something beyond
our power. to attain, for it is that spark of immortality
within us, which, being infinite, still centres in God,
and which God only can satisfy.'

• But I thought,' said Miriam, * that according to the
creed of man's depravity, there could be no desire left
of God or goodness.*

* All will, 1 believe, acknowledge,' replied Mr. How-
ard * that in every human being there is, not only a
longing, but a seeking after something which experience
proves can never be found on earth. If not, why is it,
the very moment our most desired object is obtained,
the spirit again flies off to something which is still
distant, and which when attained equally fails to satis-
fy ? This never ending restlessness is surely an unde-
niable evidence of our divine origin, but alas ! it is all
that is left us : for at the fall, sin entered the heart,
separating us from God, and became as a thick cloud
between man and his Creator, consequently there en-
sued a total eclipse of the divine light within the spirit.

214 MIRIAM.

But no sooner had man by such disobedience and re-
bellion plunged into this abyss of darkness and misery,
than Jesus Christ, the eternal Word, became our Me-
diator with the Father, who, in and through the merits
of his beloved son, was pleased to adopt the scheme of
man's redemption ; and to allow us notwithstanding our
guilt, grace and time to repent, and turn unto Him again :
that is, God does, in and through the merits and sacrifice
of Jesus Christ, pour into the hearts of all men the in-
fluences of divine light. * Like the rising sun in a dark
and gloomy morning. He breaks through the thickest
clouds of ignorance and error, and darts many bright
and glorious beams of divine light into the spirit of ev-
ery human being. He maketh his sun, morally and
spiritually, to rise on the evil and the good. His Holy
Spirit makes his abode with those who are willing to
receive him ; working with our spirits till he rekindles
the light which was lost when Adam fell, and again,
though in a faint and feeble degree, restores original
order and harmony ; our bodies becoming subject to
the rational soul — the soul to the supreme spirit — and
the spirit to the will and guidance of God.' It is then,
and not till then, that our restless spirit again enjoys a
portion of that peace, which, as emanating immediately
from God, indeed, * passeth understanding.' It is true,
the Christian rests not on what he has attained, but,
pressing onward to perfection, outward objects no lon-
ger possess their ascendency over him, for he then feels
what before existed, although unconscious of it, that
God and goodness alone can satisfy him.'

* But can we bear no part in our salvation ? ' said
Miriam.

* In the great work of salvation,' replied Mr. How-
ard, * man is, with regard lo the spirit, in a manner
wholly passive. All that he can do is, to feel such an
inward consciousness of his own inabilty, as will lead
him to* submit, and humbly to resign his spirit, to be
irradiated and acted upon, and governed by the influ*

MIRIAM. 215

ences of divine grace, that God may work therein,

• both to will and to do of his good pleasure,' and there-
by co-operating with the spirit of God, doing all that
in him lies to subdue the natural man, he tremblingly

* works out his own salvation.' Thus it is evident that
wherever divine grace dwells and reigns, it producer
good works, such as love, charity, meekness, and piety ;
and thus so far from meriting grace and favor of God,
by our good works, it is clear that we cannot do the
least good thing — no, not think a good thought, but by
the assistance of divine grace. The supreme spirit
may be Compared to a tree, whose centre and root is
fixed and planted in God. From him it derives all its
sap and nourishment, all the influences and irradiations
of divine light, that accordingly, as it is entwined with
the love of this world, or cherished by the love of God,
it becomes choked with the thorns of sin and misery,
or produces fruits of love and holiness.

* Never did the subject before appear to me in this
light,' said Miriam ; * but how is the Creator magni-
fied to us, while we thus trace his wonderful dealings
with the children of men ; and how much do we lose
by so little studying the book of Divine Providence I '

* Yes,' replied Mr. Howard; *and here, too my
dear Miss Durvan, let us trace the superiority of divine
over human philosophy. In the latter, natural reason
is our guide, and all material things are the objects of
it. It misleads us to consider the rational soul and the
supreme spirit, as one and the same thing. We mix
the ordinary manifestations of God in the one, with the
light of natural reason in the other; and our highest
principle is then merely to moderate the passions, and
to consult the temporal happiness of the natural man.
But religion, or 6^mwgpAiZoso;?Ay, superadds new lights
and assistances : it distinguishes between the superior
and inferior powers of which we are composed, and
teaches us in what our true happiness and perfection
consist. From these principles we may also discover

216 MIRtAM.

the difference between moral and divine faith* The
one is founded upon human reason, and consequently
is merely an act of the rational soul. The other is
that new and living principle, that divine and essential
light, implanted in the spirit of a Christian, which en-
ables him to feel, as well as believe, the divine doctrines
as they are in themselves. Historical faith only receives
what can be proved by evidence. Divine faith believes
and hopes all things: influencing the spirit of man to
hunger and thirst more and more after holiness as its
natural food, as the only sure means of promoting its
perfection and happiness. The one is comparatively a
dry, barren, and ideal knowledge ; consequently, sub-
ject to many uncertainties, doubts, and difficulties. The
other, imprints a clear and living conviction upon the
heart, and is always accompanied by such power and
efficacy as displays itself in the purest acts of love to
God, of charity towards all men and in every good
work. The one is like the story of a traveller, the
other is vision and experience itself The last so far
transcends the former, that Christ himself, instead of
appealing to any moral evidence, expressly tells us ;
* If any man will do the will of Him that sent me, he
shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God, or
whether I speak of myself ? '

* Then is there no value attaching to historical faith? '
asked Miriam.

' There is much,* replied Mr. Howard ; * nor would I
be misunderstood as undervaluing it. Historical faith,
and the moral evidence on which it is grounded, is
that whereby we have the external word handed down
to us. It justly challenges our most serious consideration,
and he that allows it a just weight and authority makes
a fair step towards Christianity. But it is only- divine
faith that opens and illumines the heart and mind, and
carries infallible and resistless evidence and conviction
with it. All, therefore, that I would advance is, that

JVIRIAM. 217

they are grossly mistaken who think that a Christian
has nothing hut a moral evidence and certainty on
which to ground his belief/

Miriam who was now restored to all her wonted
animation, exclaimed : * O, Mr. Howard ! would that
my dear father could but hear this argument, and I am
stfte that he would yield all his philosophy to the uner-
ing truths of divine revelation.'

* God grant that a time may come when he will in-
deed meekly receive the engrafted word,' replied Mr.
Howard ; * until then let us each in christian love
unite in fervent prayer for the restoration of his spi-
ritual happiness and perfection. This is all we can do^
my dear young friend, and we may be assured that the
prayers of humble, confiding, waiting Chistians, will
never be raised to heaven in vain.'

Helen and Edith, returning from their walk, here
interrupted the conversation, and changed it to one of
a lighter kind, until Miriam, surprised to find how long
a time she had stayed from home, hastily took leave of
her friends ; but it was with a heart considerably
lightened, for her mind was so filled with new and in-
teresting ideas, that for a time all painful thoughts lay
stifled.

218 MIRIAM.

CHAPTER XL

* Miriam ! my child 1 what ails you 1 ' exclaimed
Imlah, suddenly pushing aside a huge volume, with
which he was intently occupied, when startled by a
tear which fell from Miriam's cheek upon his own.
She was at that moment leaning fondly over him, wait-
ing only a favorable opportunity to impart her long
dreaded avowal ; for she had entered the room resolved
at once to reveal those secret principles which now
influenced her. But she found him busy in collecting
dates, a task which she knew could ill bear interrup-
tion ; so to while away the tedious hour of waiting,
ahe stirred the fire, arranged the flowers, and played
with a favorite spanel which lay sleeping on the rug,
although her mind, absent from them all, was only
filled with thinking how she could best impart her
feelings without wounding those of her beloved parent.
At length she timidly approached him, and laying her
arm across his shoulders, endeavored to attract atten-
tion. He could feel the beating of her heart, and the
trembling of her limbs, as she leant against him, which
roused him anxiously to ask the cause of so strange
an agitation. Ah ! had he at that moment chided her
in anger from him, Miriam had remained resolute, and
could have borne the rest ; but gently drawing her on
his knee, Imlah looked at his child, with an expression
of such subduing tenderness, as threw her back again
on all her latent weakness. — She leant her head against
his forehead, her arm still clinging round his neck,
and faintly said, * Why, my father, do you live me
thus so dearly ? for it is worse than death to give you
pain.'

MIRIAM. 219

* But why fancy that you need do so, my child ? *
replied Imlah, pressing her still close to his heart, ' or
suppose that I could return one angry feeling to aught
that you could ask 1 No, fear it not, Miriam ; rouse
from this anxiety, and trust your father^s Jove too well
thus tremblingly to meet his wishes ; for believe me, I
will ask nothing of you, to which you will refuse
assent, when, you really see how light is the sacrifice
we claim of you. Think then no more of what I wish,
until we are where the subject can be better understood.
You grow nervous, my child, and will really make your-
self ill if thus you indulge in fancied miseries. Come,*
added he playfully, * be my happy bird again, and let
me once more bear your chirp about our halls in
sprightly song, as you have been so often wont to do,
when you sought how to cheer the dark days of your
father's exile. I guess you have not been out to-day,
so let us go together on the cliffs, and catch the breeze
which seems this morning to fall only like a gentle
sigh upon the withering foliage, as if nature herself
mourned the last decay of summer's beauty ; so still,
and yet so sombre is all around us.' Thus saying, Imlah
kissed the cheek of Miriam, and now could she at such
a moment break the sweet spell of that tender and con-
fiding love! So she arose, and ashamed of her irresolu-
tion, she gladly left the room, to prepare for her walk ;
but dissatisfied with herself, it was one of little pleasure;
cheerfulness was an effort to her, and conversation a
burden. ^

The ensuing day was one of bustle at Fernhill, as
the first of preparation for removal. Miriam escaped
to the glen, and was now busily employed with Mr.
Howard and Helen in arranging the liberal donation of
her father, that it might be portioned judiciously to
her different pensioners according as their wants re-
quired ; and this being done, it was deposited in the
charge of Mr. Howard, who had long been the counsel-
lor and agent of Miriam's bounty. Tears glistened in
her eyes as thus she closed her last account with the

220 MIRIAM.

minister of Glencairn. * They who come after us,' said
she, * will, I trust, do far more than we have done, for
the relief of all who need it ; but none can bring a heart
more firmly the friend of this sweet glen than mine will
ever be. Yes ! when I am far away — I will not say
forgotten — many a longing wish will centre here, where
all my brightest days have been — where all my fondest
associations still must be.'

* And where,' exclaimed Mr. Howard warmly,
*the name of Miss Durvan will stand engraved m
characters never to be effaced, while a single heart
lives in the glen to record the memory of her who was
beloved of all — and will, I am sure, by all be deeply
mourned ! Infants yet unborn will hear that name and
bear it onward still, as one which truly honored Israel,
and taught many a Christian how to act the Christian
law.'

Miriam, whose feelings bad been already awakened,
could ill bear this kind and grateful eulogium on her-
self, from one whom she believed too sincere to speak
against the dictates of his own heart ; but she dared not
trust herself to speak again, and replying only with a
look which spoke thanks more eloquent than language
could have done, remained for some moments silent,
then endeavoring to change the tide of feeling which
seemed, equally, to overflow every heart, she asked who
would accompany her to the Waste, where she was
anxious to go and bid farewell to her grateful cottagers ;

* for,' said she turning to Mr. Howard, with a smile,

* although you refused to number them with your flock,
I must not forget that they belong to mine.'

* I stand reproved, but not corrected,' replied Mr.
Howard, playfully bowing, * since my offence was one
of necessity and not of will. The law whether civil or
ecclesiastical, demands fidelity, you know, and this we
dare not sacrifice, even to win a lady's favor : but^now
that I am free to go, either as minister or layman, I

MIRIAM* 221

hope you will grant me a truce, and let me be your
champion to the Waste this day.'

* Well/ said Miriam, * if I have attained my end, I
must not quarrel with the means employed to gain it,
although you men of gowns are strangely tenacious of
your rights :— but come, the days are short, and- 4ime
will not linger that we may waste it; so, who will go
with me to the fisher's cottage ? '

Mrs. Stuart interposed her endeavors to dissuade
Miriam from attempting a walk, to which »he seemed
unequal ; but, anxious to take her leave of those in
whom she had been so interested, such persuasions
were fruitless. At length, therefore, it was decided
that all, excepting Mrs. Stuart and Edith, whose sickly
mind turned away from all cheerful intercourse, should
accompany Miriam, and return by water, if the fisher-
man could undertake the task of rowing them home ;
or if not, Mr. Howard engaged to be his substitute.
This being finally agreed, the party set of on their ex-
cursion, truly enjoying a mild November day.

The walk was one of much sweet and profitable in-
tercourse ; and perhaps there is m) situation more cal-
culated to awaken the mind to sublimity of thought,
or to fill the heart with feelings above itself, than when
for the last time we tread the haunts of happy child-
hood, which we are about to leave for ever, and there
trace the chain of providences which have brought us
on to manhood, through many a link of mercy, which
we have lightly worn, if not wholly disregarded. 'Tis
then we look back on days gone by, and wish that we
had earlier known their value ; — or, onward to eterni-
ty, as the present, checkered with the vicissitudes of
feelings, leads us to yearn for time mote distant, and
pictures futurity with joys, which here we cannot
claim. So Miriam was now inspired with a heavenly-
mindedness almost above herself, as thus expressing
the deepest feeling of her heart in all their native sim-
plicity : while her companions hung on her words, as

222 MIRIAM.

if listening^ to some saint-like spirit, which soaring to
holier realms, must soon flee away from mortal love.
Alas ! how little did they know how very soon that flight
would be !

Having thus mutually exchanged the confidence of
intimacy, Miriam again alluded to the subject of her
father, which was seldom long absent from her
thoughts, and related all that kad passed the preceding
day, upbraiding herself severely for the weakness she
had betrayed in permitting circumstances trivial in
themselves, to overrule her sense of duty. But she
was still urged by Mr. Howard \o renew without de-
lay her intended avowal, while he warmly encouraged
her to hope that the result would be blessed to her,
and unattended with those trials to which she looked
forward. * Your father loves you,' added he, * and
already has he softened the rigor of his decree, by,
at least, procrastinating the engagement he so much
desires: then be assured, he intends no compul-
sive measures towards you, but will yield every
ambitious design, rather then mar a peace so precious to
him.*

*I believe it,' said Miriam, *and would that I
could act upon that assurance; for never can I taste
happiness again until I feel that my father's love is
not bestowed in ignorance of what I really am.
Every smile which now he gives me seems but to re-
proach my treachery, and yet when I think how my
heart clings to him as all that is dearest to me, I am
astonished that I can thus so long deceive him ; — he
from whom, till now, I never had one thought con-
cealed.'

* And ever is it thus, my dear Miss Durvan,' re-
plied Mr. Howard, * when human love becomes idol-
, atry. Every blessing attached to it is then poisoned
ana embitters the heart, which loving subserviently to
God, might enjoy the heavenly boon through time as
through eternity. Hence is it, that strong attach-

MIRIAM. 223

ments are great snares, although in this false world
they are considered so essential to human happiness :
and alluring us from God, they become rods to chastise
our infidelity towards Him who gave his precious life
to purchase our affections. O ! while we glory in the
warmth and tenderness with which we can love a
fellow creature, why are we so cold to the best and
truest of friends? But so it is, we leave celestial
flowers, to pluck the thorns of earthly pleasures, and
then wonder why we are wounded ! God must be first
in our souls, or, all that stands between him and the
creature is in mercy blasted ; for while he is secondary,
beautiful as earthly love may be, it still must have its
bitterness — aye, its curst ! '

*Yes,' said Miriam, * truly have I given to the
creature, that which belongeth to God alone, the ex-
clusive affection of my very heart and soul ! And
yet, how gently does the Lora draw me from the snare ;
for although he teaches me the fallacy of idolatry, he
still spares my idol, while many a one is orphaned
around me, Who have better served God than I have
done. O Mr. Howard ! when I think of our fallen
city, how does my heart bleed where once it tri-
umphed ! Yes, long did I even glory in that pride
over which the angels of heaven wept 1 — And how. am
I humbled, to think that He whom we crucified has
taken me from the ruins of Salem, and offered as my
ransom the very blood my people shed ! And yet, my
will can still rebel against him, and refuses to confess
his mercy and his victory, because I fear to meet the
frown of man !— Iwho once thought that in Jehovah's
cause, I could have borne martyrdom itself*

*Alas pride is a treacherous deceiver within us
all,* replied Mr. Howard, * and while we mourn the
fallen towers of Salem, we might do well to weep over
the ruins which lay within ourselves ; for every heart
is a Jerusalem, — once a temple of the Lord — ^but now
the shrink of every sin ' It is in the heart we have all

224 « MIRIAM.

crucified the blessed Savior, and whether we are
Jew or Gentile, his blood alone can wajsh away. the
stain.' '

* How little did I think when first I saw that dear
ehild,' said Miriam, alluding to Jessie, who was trip-
ping before her, gathering the withered leaves which
lay scattered on the bank, * that she would form so
important a link in the chain of my existence; and
yet, how often may we thus trace to what our igno-
rance deems a trifling chance, the leading providences
of our heavenly Father ! I came here with a young
heart full of proud and vindictive feelings towards all
Christian people : but Jessie was too young and too
humble to excite my pride and indignation ; and thus
to her, as first attracting my interest, am I, humanly
speaking, indebted for the knowledge of salvation.
Well may it be said, that God has ordained wis-
dom from the mouths of babes, and that he often
chooses Xhe ^weakest instruments as ipessengers of his
peace.' '

* Nor can you ever feel sufficiently thankful,' said
Mr. Howard, • that such a messenger was sent to re-
move the veil of prejudice which so long darkened
your eyes, and separated you from Him, from whom
alone salvation cometh ; and which, alas ! is the fatal
bar betwixt many an Israelite and heaven ! f hey will
not listen to the appeals of gospel revelation, in many
instances, I do believe, simply because Gentiles have
received it; and unjustly hating us, they alike despise
our religion.'

* And yet, not wholly that,' replied Miriam^ * for
we sometimes condemn you on evidence itself. When
a child, I well remember how much I was led lo un-
dervalue your religion, by seeing how little morality
was practised among Christians ; at least, I mean
among such as nominally belong to the Christian
church, for excluded as I was from all intercourse with
ihem individually, 1 could scarcely make a right dis*

MIRIAM. i ' 225

tinction between the name and reality of Christianity.'
I allude more particularly to the total disregard of the
Sabbath evinced by the majority of your people. W«
are, you know, very tenacious of our sacred day| nor
will you, I believe, often meet a Jew o{)enly trans-
gressing its laws. But in London, your Sabbath seems
a day selected from the seven for gaiety and idleness,
as if a few hours of public worship could justify the
neglect, not to say the ahuse^ of all the rest. A Jew.
scrupulously avoids all worldly business on our Sab-
bath : and as a day of sacred retirement, we endeavor
to make it one of much self-denial and fasting. But
in' yours, I have seen men and cattle as busily em-
ployed with worldly labor, as if no command had ever
been giv^ us of resting, man and beast, from all man-
ner of work, one day in every seven. St James's
Park alone, I think, justifies us, if in thus condemning
you, we do Christianity a wrong; although,' added she,
smiling, ' if Glencairn were better known, it might vin-
dicate the charge.'

* Too truly may you allege it all against us, to'our
shame,' said Mr. Howard, *and it is deeply regretted
that on a christian land like this, so foul a stain should
'rest. At the same time, there are many excellent
Christians in cities as in villages : but as the multitude
is greater, so must customs and characters be more in-
discriminately mingled ; where unrestrained by indi-
vidual observation mankind can with more impunity
disregard the laws of God, if they but keep within
those moral codes established by the laws of man.
And thus it is, in a metropolis like London, you see
thousands so grievously transgressing that express
command, * Remember the Sabbath day to keep it
holy,' simply because no one has a right, and few I
fear an anxiety, to control the Sabbath breaker, or to
warn the idle in their fatal indifference. Whereas in
a viljage like Glencairn restriction is no difScully ;

226 MIRIAM.

for each amoDgst us is known and watched ; and iiey
who disregard the established laws, either of morality
or religion, are easily singled out, as marked objects
of shame and reproach. But to do this in a town, we
should require a church and a minister at the end pf
every street.'

* And yet,' observed Helen, tenacious of "the merits
of her native land, * all towns are not necessarily in
such a state of insubordination. I remember many a
sweet Sabbath passed in my childhood at both Perth
and Dunblane, where not a stall is seen to stand in
their streets on a Sunday, nor a sound heard with im-
punity which could shock the ears of a Christian.'

* That is I believe true,' jeplied MtrHaward, *I
have heard the same generally said of Scotland. The
thing may therefore, I suppose, be done, and I sin-
cerely wish that the example of our bonny sister king-
dom would inspire us to do the like.'

The party havipg now reached the Waste, they
were obliged separately to clamber up the narrow
pathway leading to the cottage.' Jessie, who had
eagerly run forward, now bounded back in breathless
speed, exclaiming, * Miss Durvan ! Helen ! come this
way, do come and see the boat, the * Miriam !' — w#
shall all go home in the * Miriam!' — O how I shall
love that boat.' So saying, she took the hand of Mi-
riam, and leading her impatiently forward, brought her
to the edge of the cliffj whence could be distinctly
seen all that was passing on the bank beneath. There
sat Wheeler, busily employed in cleaning the keel of
his boat, which had been i wly painted, and the name
of * Miriam,' which had so immediately attracted the
delight of Jessie, conspicuously ornamented the helm.
Miriam could not forbear smiling at the compliment
thus intended her by the grateful fisherman ; and
willing to please him by an acknowledgment of it,
she beckoned her companions, and led th|B way with
Jessie down the cliff! At the sight of his benefactress,

MIRIAM. 227

Wheeler threw aside his implements, and springing*
towards her, as well as his lameness would permit, he
seemed scarcely to know how he could express his
delight at seeing her again ; and when, smiling, she
thanked him (pointing to the hoat) for so well remem-
bering her name, he exclaimed, with tears in his eyes,

* What ! lady do you think that ever I could forget a
name that's been the best to me? No, I hope I could
as soon forget to eat the daily bread that Heaven gives
me ; and I thought as how I might be so bold as to
christen my boat after you. Miss Durvan ; for good
luck must come wherever your name is, I warrant
you.'

* I thank yod? said Miriam, * but you have been a
little too notable this time ; for I came here to day fully
Loping that you would row me home again, which
J am afraid will not quite suit the boat in its present
state.'

Poor Wheeler looked quite crest-fallen as he replied,

• Well to be sure, if I had known that ever you would
have thought of such a thing as getting into my boat,
I would have sat up night and day to get it ready,
sooner than I should have ever to say it is n't fitting
for ye. But,' added the poor man, endeavoring to
think of some remedy, * may be you won't mind the
paint, if so be I lay her sails down that it shouldn't
touch you; for as to spoiling it, that's nothing;
I soon could paint it over again, and be proud to do
it too.'

* Well,' said Miriam, *we will think of it; in the
mean time I want to see Ma'i^ and the children, and to
know how you are and all about you ; although yau
look quite like another man since I saw you so ill and
miserable, sitting at your fire-side.'

* Aye,' replied the fisherman, * and who but lyou,
through the blessing of God, has made me so, for you
have given me a blithesome heart, and that's life to a
poor man : and may God bless ye for it as long as ye

228

MIRIAH^

live.' He then opened a little gate at the bottom of
the cliff; and led the way to his cottage.

It was a sweet feeling to Miriam's generous heart to
see the scene so altered since she last was there. The
garden, no longer a wilderness, bore marks of health
and industry: and the cottage, now so warm and neat,
almost realised the scene which Miriam had once fan-
cied it. There sat Mary at her work, singing, by the
side of a cheerful fire, while her children, playing round
her, gave a bright coloring to the happy picture. The
eldest boy sat by his mother, reading from the Bible,
part of the history of Pharaoh. It was now the favorite
story of the boys, because Miriam was the good pro*
phetess, who sung the praises of God. All rose as
Miriam and her companions entered, and even the
children seemed to know that she was an object of love
and gratitude ; while Mary, unable to express her feel-'
ings, could only do so by offering the best of her frugal
fare to the young .Jewess and her friends. Her nice
brown bread and a few winter fruits were spread before
her guests, who gladly partook of the homely meal,
made doubly welcome by the cheerful pleasure with
which it was given. Wheeler then answered all the
enquiries of Miriam. He was nearly recovered, although
his leg was still weak ; but he was well enough to work
and to enjoy his labor ; and with a grateful pride he
boasted that from the earnings of his industry he had
already been enabled to redeem many useful comfortsi
which in his distress had been unavoidably pawned or
Bold. *And next to God Almighty,* said the fisher-
man, raising his eyes to Heaven, * we thank you. Miss
Durvan, for all these mercies ; and sure enough when
you are gone, many a poor man will miss your kind«»
ness ; for although many folks are rich enough , it is not
many who have the heart to give of their plenty, like
as you and the Jew gentleman. God bless him ! they
used to say that he had a hard heart, and that not a
Christian dog could dare go near him ; but I'm thinh

MIRIAM. 229

rag there's many as calls themselves Christians, might
do well to pray to be as good as the 'squire up at Fern-
Miriam colored, for the fisherman had unwittingly
touched a tender chord : but she felt how truly was the

Eanegyric merited which exalted the benevolence of
er father; and she inwardly prayed that the time
would come when he .would equally deserve the rest.
Mr. Howard now assured Wheeler that so far as he
could make amends for the absence of Miss Durvan, he
would gladly offer his assistance : and Helen kindly
promised to take Miriam's part in often visiting Mary
and her children ; offering to instruct the eldest boy in
writing and arithmetic, as soon' as spring would permit
a regular access to the glen, which in winter was fre-
quently impracticable. This equally pleased both
mother and son, and was acknowledged with that simple
and unpretending gratitude, which, as receiving all from
God, yields not to man an undue share of praise.

The mid-day sun, now faintly declining, reminded
Mr. Howard that it was time for Miriam to return, and
it became a question how she could do so, the boat
being so unfit a conveyance in its present state. Pale,
and already evidently exhausted by her exertion, it was
impossible she could venture to resume the walk. But
Wheeler soon removed ^11 difficulties, as suddenly re-
collecting his new horse, he entreated her to ride it.
* It was your own,' said he eagerly, *and I'll be bound
will be proud enough to carry ye ; for even a beast is
faithful, and none, I think, can well forget you, that has
ever heard the sound of your voice — take it then, lady,
and I'll walk by the bonny nag to lead it down the
delL'

This offer was gladly accepted, and although no side
saddle could be produced, Miriam was soon well
mounted, wrapped in the Sunday cloak of Mary; and
led by the faithful Wheeler, the cavalcade was soon
prepared for departure. Few were the words spoken

230 MIRIAM.

at parting ; but poor Mary stood with the children at
the cottage gate, to watch in silent sadness the last of
her benefactress: — it was indeed the last ! — for she was
fast travelling to * that bourne whence no traveller re-
turn s.'

A few days after this Imlah was struck by the languid
appearance of Miriam, and affectionately asked if she
feh ill. She complained however of little, excepting
pain in her head, and chilliness, which at times amount-
ed to shivering. But towards the evening her cheek
flushed, her whole frame sickened, and a burning fever
spread itself through every vein. The usual remedies
of a cold were immediately applied, and Corah stationed
to watch her during the night ; but still no medicine re-
lieved her, and alarmed by the symptoms of increasing
fever, the following morning Imlah sent for a Christian
physician, reported to be eminently skilful in his pro-
fession. He came, and pronounced the disease an in-
flammatory fever. He thought her seriously ill, but
still appeared very sanguine of a favorable termination.
She was to be kept extremely quiet and free from all
excitation, as from the irritated state of her nervous
system, the doctor ventured to hint that her mind was
under some uneasiness. He then took his leave, and
Imlah, who felt conscious that this conjecture might be
too justly implied, flew to the, sick chamber of his be-
loved child, his heart full of love and tenderness to-
wards her, and of self reproach against himself He
bade her be happy, and for his sake to resist every un-
easiness, assuring her that nothing should be done
against her will ; neither would he leave England if she
felt repugnant to the change. Miriam, affectionately
smiling, pressed her father^s hand against her burning
lips, in silent expression of her grateful thanks. * I
should be indeed a thankless child,' said she, * could I
feel reluctant to go any where with you. I shall soon
be well, my dearest father, and I hope we both shall
still be happy — happy as we have ever been.''

MIRIAM. 231

*May the God of our fathers graciously or.dain it so /
replied Imlah fervently, * for you are more precious to
me then all the wealth of Israel's tribes.'

In a few days Miriam was declared better, and re-
moved to an interior room, but she was still unable to
rise from her sofa, and although to the eye of others
she appeared decidedly recovering, she inwardly believ-
ed the hope a fallacious one. She was however at all
times cheerful, and before her father spoke frequently
of their intended removal, that he might not suppose it
was a subject of painful anticipation to her. But when
alone Miriam was often absorbed in silent reverie. She
had never before been laid on a bed of sickness,, and as
within herself she felt the daily ravages of fever, the
thoughts of death and eternity forcibly occupied her
mind. It was now that Christ was indeed become pre-
cious to her soul ! It was now that she took part in
his great salvation — that she embraced the lively hopes
of a joyful resurrection — and longed to proclaim the
hosannas of a sanctified spirit before the throne of him,
whom but a few months ago she rejected and reviled !
Neither washer religion a mere nominal Christianity.
It was a religion founded on the deepest convictions
of revealed truth — the actual realisation of that living
faith which worketh by love. It was a practical sys-
tem of humility, self-condemnation, repentance, a cheer-
ful renunci.ilion of her own will; and each of these,
though concealed from the eye of man under the shades
of retirement and disease, were manifested through-
out all her sufferings, before that Omniscient Being,
from whom nothing can be hidden, to whom every
thought is known, and to whom the motive of every
action is even as the action itself Often did Miriam
yearn for the society of her Christian friends, but
tenderly alive to the feelings of her father, she breathed
not a wish that could militate against his comfort ;
well aware, that at such a moment he would refuse
her nothing, however great the sacrifice in granting

232 MIRIAM.

her requests. This forhearance was nevertheless a
trial to her — a daily exercise of self-denial ; for her
greatest earthly delight would have heen in Christian
communion with Mrs. Stuart and her dear Helen.
"Respecting her father, her mind daily became less
anxious. Not that she lost sight of the, importance of
his conversion, but she found many exhortations to
' wait patiently on the Lord,' and to believe that what-
soever was asked in faith, of any thing tending to the
glory of God, or the salvation of maii^ should in his
own good time be fully granted ; and it was now her
earnest endeavor to realise this, by indeed leaving
her prayers at the feet of Jesus, and the result of them
to the unerring wisdom of Jehovah! But she was not
without an object of active interest. She had long
felt anxious that Corah should embrace Christianity,
and now eagerly availed herself of the influence she
possessed to convince her of that blessed revelation from
which she herself derived all happiness.

Corah was a young and tender girl ; and brought up
with Miriam as her playfellow in childhood, her com-
panion in later years, the wishes of her beloved mis-
tress formed the mainspring of all her actions. What-
ever Miriam did or thought was a law in Corah's
yielding mind ; it was therefore not difficult to impress
her with those new convictions which had changed the
character of Miriam ; indeed she would often listen with
delighted credence to the persuasions with which she
was daily instructed in Christianity, for it not onlyjln-
sured her a large portion of Miriam's attention, but
Avas an increasing tie of love and intimacy between
them. Had Miriam been at^are how mucjn affection
towards herself influenced tile young proselyte, she
would have felt less satisfied wrth the gr6und of Corah's
faith, but still inexperienced in human nature, she be-
lieved with grateful delight all that Corah seemed to
promise; and as the gospel of Jesus daily became more
and more the subject of her enquiry and apparent irf-

MIRIAM. 233

terest, Miriam thankfully enjoyed the security of her
conversion : while with unfeigned humility she would
often admire the willing submission of Corah, so unlike,
she thought, her own obstinacy, which had so long re-
jected the influence of her Christian teachers. Not
that Corah was deceitful, or professed to be what she
was not ; but mistaken words for things, shadow for
substance, she readily declared herself a believer in
Christianity. So she was one, but not from an inward
sense that she was personally concerned in all its doc-
trines ; nor from a conviction that she needed the par-
don, mercy, salvation, and sanctification of Jesus the
the Messiah, without which all religion is so yain ;
but simply because she believed that a faith which
Miriam had embraced, must be the one leading to
heaven.

Another source of anxious meditation to Miriam
was, how far the Christian sacraments were necessary
for our acceptance with God. She longed to be baptis-
ed, and to be fully admitted as a member of our church,
by partaking the Lord's Supper. But how could she
do either without the sanction of her father ? and yet
that sanction she felt could not at present be obtained.
She consulted again and again every part of the New
Testament relative to the subject ; but she found no-
thing there to ftlarm her mind with any apprehension
that such sacraments were essential to salvation. She
indeed inwardly appreciated their value, but as she was
taught that * circumcision was that of the heart in the
spirit , and not in the letter,* so she could understand
that in the spirit might als« abound such a communion
with Christ, as would tesj,ify a lively remembrance of
his * death and passion,* aidd of the * benefits which we
receive thereby.' • Year .thought she, • I may spiriiu-
ally discern the Lord's body, although not privileged
to do so outwardly by the consecrated bread and wine ;
an.d He, who knoweth all things will not reject the si-
lent * remembrance ' of the soul's desire to feed on Him

234 MIRIAM. «

continually by *faith and thanksgiving.' ' Thus, when-
ever the question became one of painful uncertainty,
would Miriam find peace and assurance of acceptance :
and she now only waited for a little more bodily
strength to reveal her faith openly to her fathier. She
could have done it in eii her weakness, for she had lost
the dread of a parent's frown, but for his sake, she
resolved to delay the trial until circumstances should
open a way for the subject, aware how anxiously he
wished her to be preserved from all excitation in her
present state of health and nerves.

Nearly a fortnight had elapsed since Miriam had been
confined to her room : when one morning that she felt
unusually exhausted by the fatigue of dressing she, for
the first time, expressed a doubt of her recovery. Corah
was kneeling by her side, and rubbing her lifeless hands,
as she lay exhausted on the sofa, when the invalid
thanked her for all her kind, affectionate attentions with
a smile of such expressive meaning, that Corah burst
into tears, as if that smile had too surely sealed the
warrant of all her fears. Miriam remained silent for
some moments, until the first grief of her afflicted com-
panion had in some degree subsided, and then calmly
said, * Dear Corah, we must both of us now evince the
sincerity of our love to Christ, by a willing resignation
of ourselves to him. I sometimes indeed feel that this
sickness is unto death ; but Corah, if it be so, remem-
ber that He, in whose hands are life and immortality,
can sanctify the event both to you and to me. If m-
deed, doath be near me, may it be * gain to me to die,'
and may you in living, live alike to Christ.'

* Death ! ' exclaim^ Corah, clasping the hand of her
mistress, while her eyes were upraised to heaven with
expression of earnest supplication ; ' Then do you real-
ly think that you^will die? O no I you must not, shall
not leave me ! You have told me, and it is Messiah
who has said it, that whatever we ask of him we shall
receive. If, then, such promises be true, you will not
die, for I will weary him this night with supplications

MIRIAM. 235

for your precious life ; that prayer alone shall be my
cry before the Lord Jehovah.'

* Corah/ said Miriam, solemnly, * is it for us, who are
ignorant even of to-morrow, to direct the decrees of the
Most High, and to say that life is better than death,
when we know not what that life might be ? The
kingdom of Christ is altogether a spiritual kingdom, in
which temporal blessings can have but little concern.
Let earthly wishes, therefore, be consigned in silent
submission to his better will ; while we ask only such
things as are of the kingdom of j|^aven. To these
alone. Corah, belong the promises of accepted prayer.
If, then, one single request be ever rejected, be assured
it is such as God in his omniscience sees unfit to grant.'
Corah dared make no reply ; and Miriam, unwilling
to neglect such an opportunity of expressing all she
wished, asked her if she would fulfil the few requests
she bad to make in case of her decease. The faithful
Corah, gratified by such a mark of confidence, testified
her assent to all that Miriam could ask, while, pale and
agitated, she silently listened to every injunction with*
that sacred awe with which one ever listens to the last
words of those we love. Miriam gave her a sealed
packet, addressed to Imlah, requesting that it might
be delivered to him immediately after her death, but in
the mean time Corah was not to mention the appre-
hensions she had expressed respecting the issue of her
illness. She also requested her to see Mrs. Stuart as
soon as possible after her decease, and to assure her
that she gratefully remembered oil her kindness, and
the love which had been so precious to her from them
all. She then gave her many strict injunctions to con-
tinue faithful in the service of her father, and as far as
possible to alleviate her loss, by administering to him
all those little attentions with which she had herself daily
contributed to his comfort. • And above all,' added she,
* let him see the beauty of Christian holiness in all
your conduct : and if the last hope of earth that will an-

236 MIRIAM.

mate my dying prayer, be sacred to you, dear Corah,
bear it in continual remembrance to my most precious
father : — ^the hope that the loss of what, I know, he holds
the dearest, may lead him to the rock of Israel's salva-
tion, to Jesus, our devoted Messiah ! — our Redeemer,
Priest, and King ! Tell him day by day, that this was
the last wish of his child, and that if the redeemed in
heaven can ask a boon in Jesus' name for those they
loved on earth, that one petition shall mingle day and
night in all her holiest songs ! ' .

Miriam ceased^ Ibr the feelings of anxious and devo-
ted zeal in a parent's welfare, filled her heart with a
conflict not to be described ; a conflict between the
weakness of human tenderness, clinging still to the
sweet link of filial love, and that higher principle, which
can * leave all' to 'follow Christ,' that longing to de-
part and be with Him who is the bright and morning
star ' which illumines the Christian's last decline of life's
dark day !

Scarcely had Corah recovered from the agony of
grief in which she laid her head on Miriam's hand, as
still kneeling she listened to these prophetic injunctions,
when Imlah entered the room ; but he suspected no-
thing of what had passed, for intent only on his child,
he saw not the tearful countenance of Corah, as she
hastily passed him and withdrew : while Miriam, anx-
ious to conceal it from him. immediately roused herdelf
to assume a cheerfulness, which had at that moment
perhaps, deserted her. This efTort, however, did not
altogether deceive him. He saw that she was more
languid than before ; and yet when he felt the burning
of her hand, and saw that the hectic of disease still
prayed on her cheek, he knesv that her increasing
weakness could be no earnest of departed fever. But
still Miriam evaded all enCjuiriei which admitted not a
favorable reply ; and the sanguihe father blindly cher-
ished his own fond, fallacious hppe of her recovery,
even against the probabilities before him. He sought

' ^

MIRIAM. 237

an unction to silence the anxiety of a too well-grounded
apprehension, in causes which his judgment would
otherwise have rejected. He hegan to he alike dis-
satisfied with the physician and the medicines he pre-
scribed, and declared his intention to obtain further ad-
vice, although well aware that if human skill could
avail, nothing further was required than the kind and
judicious trjeatmeni of pif. L. .Miriam warmly en-
treated against an ycha^e, assutyig her father, that ex-
cepting inct^easeji wetness, shfe did not feel worse
than she had done for Some tkne past : dressing, she
said, had that morning unusually fatigued her ; but if he
would read aloud, rest and recreation would very soon
revive her. Thus pacified, knlah again cherished
* hope against hope ;' and devoting the remainder of
the day to her amusement, he, for a time, lost sight of
those fears which had that morning, for the first titne,
filled his mind with a dreadful anticipation of dajager.

The ensuing morning, Miriam awoke oppressedgith
difficulty of breathing, and such an e;!ctreme lataptor
pervaded her whole frame, as alarmed all who attended
her. The distracted father immediately > sentf^ for Dr.
L., and taking his station at the bedside of his child,
he watched every variation of pulse and countenance
with an anxiety amounting almost to agony. But Mi-
riam appeared scarcely sensible to this. Her father's
hand, indeed, was fondly clasped in hers ; and every
now and then a smile passed over her, as she raised
her languid eyes to look on him she loved so dearly :
but u ever seemed the impulse of a momentary and
sudden recollection, for the color which came with it
quickly faded from her cjieek, and she would fall again
in a state of lethargy, apparently unconscious of all that
was said or done. At length she closed her eyes and
when Dr. L. arrived slve was in a most profound slum-
ber. On hearing what had passed, the doctor declared
^M^ sleep to be the crisis of her disorder, the result of
which no human skilk could determine : but as her

238 MIRIAM.

breathing became gradually more free and regular, h«
ventured to hope that the young sufferer would awake
restored : and after 'vfeclliii^ her for some time, during
which nothing occurred to alter his opinion or hu
]][l^jpes, he took his leaver promising to return that even^
ipg, and pass the night at Fernhill. He left, with other
directions, the strictest injunctions to quietness ; assur-^
ing Imlah, that ho weve/ long the sleep of Miriam might
continue, it was of the first impbrtance that it should
not be broken or distdrbed. Every noise, therefore,
that could possibly startle her, was to be carefully
appided.

^ Several hours passed away in this state of/ dreadful
suspense, in which it w^uld be impossible- to describe
the feelings of Imlah. He sat motionless by the small
bed on^^which Miriam lay, scarcely venturing to breathe,
le^^he very sounds of respiration should awake that
awful sleep. His hand lightly rested on her pulse, and
tear^^listened in his dark eye from time to time, while
he^PP sUi^ggled to confine within his laboring breast
the lAsp^akable £g:iguish whi6h seemed almost to burst
every fibre otJi^is heart. fThe whol% room, indeed,
might havtf apj)eared', to a ^listant eye, more like an
exquisite paijating, ^an a scene . of living realities.
Partially darkened the light fell in one beam of sunny
brightness across the foot o^ the sufferer's bed, wfiere
sat the sli^t figure of Corah, her whole soul immova-
bly fixed on Miriam. Her hands were crossed on her
bosom, as if their pressure could silence the beating of
her heart, and her dark waving hair falling negligently
over her features,' shaded a countenance so motionless
and pale, that she looked more like sculptured marble
than a mortal being. And Miriam lay smiling in her

Eeaceful sleep, so serene and beautiful, that looking on
er one might almost believe death had already sepa-
rated the sufferings and the sins of mortality from her
saint-like spirit. But still she breathed, and slept the sleep

MIRIAM. 239

of nature ; and several slow hours had now lengthen-
ed the supense of her attendants, when the harking of'
a dog, apparently approaching the house, roused
the vigilant anxiety of Imlah : he rose, and softly^ bijt*
hastily, left the room. The dog was soon quieted, apjf'^
not a sound was again heard to break the death-lite*^
silence ol^hdt solemn watehing; neither did/,ln9,l£in
return ; #^6^^ fearful lestjji&hand might feil in re- *
opening the m^^i^f ^^^^^WbMr^^ asj^ A ||i |l l v as .
when h^left it ; biK it ocQ\3i^^l^l^mf ^^^Hkc was
not ofte^ wont to ^tch hi^^M^U^mingtWi^i^
her rest, -^he might ^n walin]^;^ perhaps, be ^^^
seeing hibi unexpectedly %y hei^%i|fe.* He the
resolved to^^w^Jfc as patiently^ as he /co^d, liiitil
moned by Corah to witness%e r^lt H|f thlt^ i
tant crisis. Not long had Imlah"^" M h^l^ImM' Mi-
riam gave a (^ep sigh, and moved the ' positili of her ,^^
hand. Corah drew in her breath, and scarcely rising, 4?>*^i
clasped her hands tMhe attitude of fearful expectation. ^"
For a few moments all was still ; when Miriam again
sighed heavily — a deep flush overspread her features;
— ^she awoke, and looking vyildly around her, faintly ^
said, * Where am I? and what does' this darkness '-%
mean?' Corah now approached, bBf. gently did she *^
move, for she seemed still spell-l^uld; as it were, by,;
an indiscribable awe, as if it -were sacrilege for mortal*
tongue to speak one word of interruption ; until Miriam, ^ •*
repeating her question with a look of earnest enquiry,
recalled her to presence of mind, and she replied:
' Do not be frightened ; you are just waking from a
long sleep, which, I trust, will do you good.'
, * Yes, yes, I remember that I fell asleep,' said Mi-
riam, thoughtfully ; then raising herself, she remained
for a moment with her hand over her eyes, as if trying
to collect her thoughts, when suddenly clasping her
hands she exclaimed, with a countenance of enthusias-
tic energy, » O, Corah ! I have had such a dream

240

MIRIAM.

^OfBiWjeve my
l^%i^li|Tids, for
with
dews of

as I would sleep on for ages to enjoy again. I have
been, as I thought, in the presence of the Lord, my
sins forgiven, and my soul washed white in the pre-
cious blood of Him, whom Israel blindly, basely cru-
'cified? And then I felt as if borne on the ethereal air
of heaven, amid the golden harps of saints and cheru-
bim, whose hallelujahs filled all space ! But it was
all a dream ; sin is still h^e, and I haj^a.left ray Mas
tefs wori^iwdone: and yet, Cora*
soul WilPflioon he^0^ from aU its
deatJMs nigh at h^t^my J^eart b
and my frame.; is chffled w

St struffcle! ' ' f .

h greatly darmed, gave MiriainfeiM m'edicine
wh||jb was to be administered to her on waking ; while
she #ied to believe that under a strong mental excita-
tion the invalid felt worse than she really was, and
therefore would not summon Imlah, until she was some-
what more composed. Miriam^Brank the mixture,
but still seemed absorbed in thouWi^ of deeper interest
than her own sufferings. 'Corah,' said she vehe-
mently, *. where is my dear father? Go, bid him come
to me this moment, this very moment ! I must not die
with such a sta^^ppn ray soul.' Corah immediately
rang the bell, aSlpn^n instant Imlah was at the bed-
side of Miriam. It was a touching sight to witness the
meeting of that tender father with his awakened child,
after a sleep which had appeared to him like an absence
of ages ; and when he saw her countenance irradiated
by smiles of recognition — flushed with the false bloom
of hectic beauty, he fondly dared believed that all his
hopes were, at that moment, realised. And well he
might have thought so, for Miriam looked not like a
victim of impending death. Supported by pillows, she
lay in an almost upright posture, with no other cover-
ing over her shoulders than a ' large Turkish shawl,
which her father had laid over h^r when sleeping.

MIRIAM. 24 1

Greatly oppressed, she had thrown off her cap, arnl
her fine hair now hung carelessly about her neck, partly
concealing her face, the expression of which was almost
angelic ; for animated with the enthusiasm of her lofty
mind — the desire of evincing the happy in^uences of
Christian hope, and the devotional feelings of pious
submission; gentleness and beauty combined to throw
a peculiar lustre over the whole aspect of the young Jew-
ess. She sweetly smiled as her father raised her
head from the pillow to his bosom ; but Imlah started,
and shrank back with an alarm which he could ill
conceal, when her hand fell upon his own ; for had
it been of coldest marble, it3 touch could not have been
more chilling. Miriam saw the disappointment of
her father, but attempting not to check it, only said
with much composure, * Never mind the coldness of
my hand, dearest father, my heart still loves you as
warmly, as when first it learned to know the value of
your kindness ; and yet, warm as it is, it knows not
how to thank you for all your love — your tenderness —
your care ! '

* Miriam ! my precious child,' replied Imlah, * let
no thanks fall on love and kindness mutually bestowed.
If I indeed have been the light of your young path, you
have been to me as the pne bright star which has ever
led my thoughts from gloom to joy — from despair to
hope.

* And may I be enabled to do it yet more perfectly,
my father,' exclaimed Miriam fervently, the color chang-
ing on her cheek, *life will then be precious which has
been spared for such a mission.'

* Jehovah grant it ! ' said Imlah, not aware of his
daughter's meaning, ' for mine would be a dark blahk
without the smiles of my sweet child.'

* Not so, my father, if you found one to fill that blank,
whose love throws sunshine even on sorrow.'

Imlah sighed, but made no reply ; and Miriam, after
a moment's silence, looking earnestly at him, as she

242 MIRIAM.

Still lay supported on his bosom, asked with a mild
but peculiar emphasis, * Dearest father, do you love
me ? '

Love you !' exclaimed Imlah, surprised and press-
ing her still closer to his heart; * tpve you, Miriam ! —
If ever parental affection warmed the heart of man, it
has kindled in. mine such love for you, as angels might
ask their sister saints to give : for it is love which alone
lends e^rth a light for me, and leads my stricken soul
to raise a grateful song to Heaven, wheit many a time,
but for the boon it gives in you, I could speak bitterly
of kte, and curse the life which heaven spares me.*

Miriam turned pale, and with great solemnity replied,
* And yet such love on earth, my fathe?, is idolatry,
and must in mercy be riven asunder, lest its false light
should lead you to eternal darkness. But,* added sh^,
raising herself and looking at her father with an ex-
pression, never afterwards forgotten, * do you love me ?
— not for what I am to you — but apart from yourself .
could your love grant me one solemn request ; and so-
lemnly fulfil it? Could it forgive the violence which
that request might do to the dearest feelings of your
bosom ? — and forget all else, save the purpose for which
it was asked, and her who asked it? ' ^ , .

Imlah felt alarmed, for although the voice of Miriam
was calm, and her countenance serene as a clouAl^s
moonlight, he believed that her mind waiidered-ia 6op9e
delirious phantasy; till suddenly recollecting the fatal
alliance he had engaged her to fulfil, he beckoned Co-
rah to leave the room, and then replied, ' Miriam, my
beloved girl ! proof against every test — my love could ' '
bear and suffer all, and far more than you could re-
quire. Then ask youf boon ; it shall be freely granted
at whatever cost it claims : for, be assured any thing
that can give peace to you, brings happiness to me. But
compose yourself now, my child, and we will talk of
eaVthly cares, when health cajls you back to act in earth-
ly schemes.'

MIRIAM. S^43

* I am composed, my father/ replied Miriam, * as
one who, standing on the verge of eternity, looks only
at eternal things. And now I thank you tenderly for
the boon you grant, — a boon for which alone I have
craved life and tin^.* So saying, she drew from un-
derneath her pillow a little Testament, and laying it in
Imlah's hands, then pressing them together with both
her own, exclaimed, * Take that precious book, my be-
loved father, and let it be your guide, your counsellor,
your comfort 1 May the* Lord, in his infinite mercy,
make the stumbling-block of Israel, your rock and your
salvation ; and while you read, may his Holy Spirit
teach you to believe — to revere — ^to receive ! And now
dear, precious parent, remembering the last solemn
promise so sacredly pledged to your dying child, for
your own sake — for hers, I beseech you, speak no more
against Jesus of Nazareth ! — the Redeemer of Israel,
. —the Messiah, — the One arid only Savior of all man-
kind ! ' Exhausted by the feelings and energy with
which she uttered this solemn charge, Miriam fell back,
and the cold dews of death hung on her pale face, as
nature struggled with its last resistless conqueror.
Imlah, who knelt by her side, his hand still grasping
her sacred legacy, was motionless as herself, and felt as
if he had lost all power of utterance £tnd sense ; while
with a Ipok, fixed with unspeakable anguish oti his
child,'*iie uttered groans of agony, such as perhaps
aloile could have roused the departing spirit, of Miriam
back to earthly thoughts. She opened her eyes once
more, and laid her icy arm, for a moment, around her
father's neck, .in token that her last love was his : then
quietly crossing her hands upon her bosom, and look-
ing up to heaven with a countenance brightened with a
glow of holy fervor, she exclaimed, * Dearest father !
look up — look up, from me, to Christ I and now, O bless-
ed Jesus, do Thou come quickly.' Again her head fell
back, and with one long> but gentle sigh, her happy
spirit winged its flight to God !

244 MIRIAM'

Imlah remained for some time appalled and motion^
less, gazing in fixed despair on the silent lips of his
child, as if .-waiting again to hear their eloquence. But
the dreadful stillness which now prevaded ail around,
where not one sound, one sigh, was heard to break that
awfiil solitude, recalled him to a faint sense of what had
been : and yet it was the disordered sense which fancy
sometimes lends to picture dreams like real things ; or
to embody its own faint shadows into the frightful phan-
toms of insanity. Still did he look on Miriam, and
still grasped the little volume which he knew was asso-
ciated with her last words. But what were those
words ? The avowal of an apostate ! And yet was
that heavenly smile, which gave even death a semblance
of peace— one of apostacy? Could a guilty heretic
meet the awful judgment of an offended God, as Mi-
riam had done 1 Miriam an apostate ! — a heretic ! O
no I rather let Christianity be true, and Israel fall at last
beneath the scourge of Christian victory, — ^than Mi-
riam, the last daughter of David's line, be so accursed !
And now great drops of agony stood on the cold fore-
head of Imlah, as thoughts like these passed through
his bewildered mind, and in groans of deepest anguish,
he called loudly on the name of his sainted child, as if
she could still dispel the dreadful visions of that fearful
dream. But alas I it was too surely a waking reality ;
nothing could move or change the sweet, calm smile of
her for whom never before had Imlah called in vain !

Alarmed by a sudden noise of falling. Corah and
several attendants were now soon assembled round the
unhappy father, whom they found stretched insensible
on the floor. He was immediately removed to an ad-
joining room, while Corah, scarcely less bewildered^
assisted in performing the melancholy duty of preparing
the body of Miriam for its last repose.

In the meantime, Imlah recovered to a remembrance
of all that had passed ; but the violence of ungoverned
grief was gone, and his haughty spirit resumed its

HIRJAM. 245

proud disdain of sympathy. So he arose, and sternly
resisting the importunate attentions of his servants, he
rushed from the room to his own ; the door was closed
with violence, hastly locked, and a hurried pace was
heard from time to time within. Corah alone ventured
to intrude where Imlah was. Her mission was to de-
liver the packet consigned to her hy Miriam. He re-
ceived it in silence, and suffered refreshments to be
placed before him : after which he was left again alone
and only Heaven knows what passed within the dark
soul of the stricken man, during that long night of suf-
fering,

the ensuing morning Imlah returned to his domestic
duties with an assumed air of composure ; but he was
gloomy, repulsive, and seemed to shrink even from the
very eye of human compassion. He gave orders to his
steward that the funeral of Miriam was to be conducted
under the directions of Mr. Howard, to whom he sent
a polite note to that purport, expressing submission to
the last wishes of his daughter, who desired Ghristian
burial in the churchyard of Glencairn.

After these injunctions, he commanded that, no one
should be admitted to his piresence uncalled for, nor
was he seen again to hold communion with his fellow-
beings, save that peculiar circumstances required it,
when his commands were ever briefly given and sternly
spoken.

Miriam was buried with great solemnity in the glen,
which in life had been her favorite scene ] and if angels
be permitted to penetrate the veil which lies betwixt
this earth and heaven, she might have felt even there a
sacred pleasure in the affectionate sorrow manifested
around her simple grave. Imlah did not attend her
funeral. Wrapt in the stern gloom of silent misery,
such as can never be described, he spent that day in
prayer and fasting, while to the eye of others he ap-
peared to bear the stroke with firmness ai\d courage.
Mrs. Stuart and her three daughters were the chief

246 MIRIAM.

mourners at Miriam's grave ; and truely did they mourn
her as they would have done one of nearest kindred ;
while every villager rendered the fond tribute ot de-
voted zeal, where' she was laid, who as friend and bene-
factress had been so justly honored, revered, and
loved 1

CHAPTER XII.

Nearly two years had elapsed, after the death of Mi-
riam, before Lmlah 'ivas seen beyond the precincts of
Fernhill, which he still retained, and it was g-eiierally
supposed that the wish of remaining where his beloved
child had been reared and died, had induced him to
resign his mission to Germany, and to become the
solitary recluse which he had lived since that melan-
choly bereavement. But little can man penetrate the
veil of another's heart, or judge of causes by appear-
ance : for while the lonely Jew was accusea of cher-
ishing the gloomy misanthropy natural to his charac-
ter, he was day by day * growing in grace and in the
knowledge of the Lord Jesus ;' and this grace was
daily kindling in his soul all those milder virtues of
Christian )ove towards mankind which ever result
from genuine Christianity. In Miriam he had indeed

MIRIAM. 247

lost all that could ' lend earth a light,' and when she
was gone whose love had shed a heam of gladness
even over his unhappy destiny, the world stood before
him as one dark, cheerless void — one blank of unmiti-
gated misery. In Miriam too he had lost the link of
life's ambition, and she gone, his mind sunk into the
listless torpor of gloomy indolence, as if he had no-
thing now to rouse it into action. Her death waiS a
dreadful blow, not only to his heart, as dissolving for
ever the sweet cares of parental affection, but to every
passion which yearned for aggrandisement and power ;
for it seemed to cut off the last scion on which the
hopes of Israel rested, and it humbled his soul to feel
the fallacy of his presumptuous speculations; that
while he so confidently believed Miriam to be the
chosen handmaid of the Lord to fulfil the deliverance
of Israel's exiles ; and that for this she was endowed
with those strong powers of mind which raised her
above the ordinary standard of woman; God was
working against him, and preparing his child for a far
difTerent victory — the triumph of Christianity over her
own infidelity! Thus frustrated by an evident power
of unerring wisdom, even by the power of Him whose
sovereign justice Imlah dared not, would not deny, the
unhappy man resolved no more to raise his own weak
arm in the guidance of decrees so darkly understood.
He therefore resigned all claims to personal power in
the secret councils of tlie misguided rabbis in Pales-
tine and Germany, pleading his recent loss as a ne-
cessity for temporary seclusion from the world and all
secular emplovments; and thus pelding himself to the
indolence of despair, Imlah passed the first days of his
desolateness in one long ireverie of past remembranceci,
almost forgetful that he had still a soul to prepare for
eternity. He had sacredly fulfilled every request of
Miriam, who had left her books, for the most part,
between Helen Stuart and Mr, Reward. Thpse of
English authors, consisting principally of well-selected

248 MIRUM.

biography and history, to the former and many useful
Hebrew works to Mr. Howard, as an acknowledgment
of her gratitude towards him. She also left many
other remembrances to Mrs. Stuart, Edith, and Jessie,
and to all who had been kind to her. These wishes
of his child Imlah had scrupulously fulfilled, although
he sternly rejected all personal communication with
the parties concerned ; and frequently would he again
read over the packet containing such requests, to find,
if possible, something yet undone, that might once
more employ him. But this task over, he felt that
indeed his parental charge was for ever dissolved, and
every interest of life buried with her who had formed
the centre of his every thought. The grotto, once the
favorite retreat of his departed Miriam, was the spot
where, heedless of cold, or loneliness, his days were
generally dreamt away. The little Testament she had
given him with her dying breath, was now become the
last sad memorial of her wishes. He read it — at first
indeed with cold incredulity; but * remembering his
last solemn promise, so sacredly pledged * to his child,
he did read it ; and without that angry disdain as once
he felt, for, Miriam had loved that book, and he dared
not despise it. It was replete too with nbtes which
she had inserted, evidently with a view to impress her
fathers mind with the feelings excited in her own
heart by the perusal of that blessed revelation, and
while he fondly gazed upon her writing — all that was
now left him of herself — it seemed as if she addressed
him from the grave, and an unutterable awe fixed his
mind. This led further ; ana while in fervent prayer
he entreated God to comfort and to guide him. He,
who ever stands over the broken-hearted shed forth
his beams of mercy to enlighten the mind of that
dark unbeliever, and Imlah at length meekly confessed
that Miriam's God was the Lord ! She had also left
amongst other writings, the arguments which she had
had with Mr. Howard on the Christian question, ^oted

MIRIAM. 249

for her own private study. These Were powerful evi-
dences, and became a further source of interest and
enquiry to Imlah.

O how true is it, that * great mercies often »pring
from the smallest beginnings ! * — ^Imlah no longer read
the sacred word of revelation as a task^ but really
searching the unspeakable riches of grace, be found the
• pearl of great price,* and at last, overwhelmed by a
sense of his own utter ignorance, he shed such bitter
tears of self-reproach as removed the very barrier which
stood betwixt himself and mercy I It was not, how-
ever, the sudden work of one day, or month, or year,
that wrought conviction on the mmd of Imlah. Light
c^me gradually as the dawning day o'er his benighted
soul — but it was no meteor gleami which came lightly
to allure the eye, and leave it again to doubt and dark-
ness ! It was that * true light which lighteth every
man that cometh into the world ;' and altnough, in-
deed, a cloud would sometimes intercept its glories,
and fortfi moment dim the feeble sight of reason, the
' Sun of Righteousness* again shed forth its blessed
rays of truth to dispel the mists of error. Often would
Imlah question Corah on all that passed during the ill-
ness of Miriam, and would listen again and again to the
detail of her patient, self denying forbearance; her
lively faith and earnest desires after holiness ; while
every word seemed to address a solemn • warning to
himself, to * go and do likewise.* And now he began
to feel that it was indeed * time to awake out of sleep,'
that his * night was far spent,* and the awful ' day at
hand,' when at the tribunal of the injured Jesus, Israel
must render an account of its blood-guiltiness ^ He
felt too that man was nut placed on earth for the indul-
gence; of either the ease of luxury, or the indolence oi
sorrow ; but that time was a talent, every moment of
which must be rendered back * with usury,* to the
great Master of life's vineyard. He felt himself a re-
sponsible being, with all the penalties of salvation before

250 MIRIAM.

him, if he labored to attain the * prize of our high
calling;' while on the other hand revelation displayed
the * terrors of the Lord/ written in the unalterable
laws of a just and holy judge, if with all those promises,
and powers, and warnings, and pleadings, he could still
live, on an unprofitable servant, and * neglect so great
salvation/ Imlah had been a blind and prejudiced
man ; and wrapt within the fatal shades of Judaism, he
had lived an alien from God, a rebel against the ' Lord
of life ;' but he had a generous as well as powerful
mind, and when convinced of error, he could nobly re-
sign his own opinions, and heedless of the world^s con-
tempt, he could as nobly act upon a better principle.
So now daily strengthening in the Christian faith, he
shrunk not from an open manifestation of Christianity,
but became as zealous for the conversion of all those
placed under his control, as he had been sternly severe
against every dereliction from strict Judaism.

It would lengthen our tale too much to follow the
progress of faith in the mind of Imlah : we wiH there-
fore only briefly add, that not more than two years sub-
sequently to the death of his daughter^ — the event to
which, humanly speaking, we may trace his conversion
— he sought an interview with' Mr. Howard, and soon
became his pupil in Christian instruction — his compa-
nion and friend ; and a few months only elapsed from
that period before he was baptised in the little church
of Glencairn, and partook the sacrament of the Lord's
supper, previously to his leaving England for Germany
on an expedition — not to unite in the general enmity, so
violently excited about that period amongst the Jews,
against the Christian church --but as a Christian Mis-
sionary, to preach and to teach the very gospel which
he had once denied and reviled ! Devoted still to Israel
and its unhappy people, he longed to go forth and pro-
claim the glad tidings of salvation to those in whose
ruin he felt tliat he was but too fatally involved ; aware
that as he had formerly been so zealous an ally of the

MIRIAM. 251

apostate cause, his influence would now be the more
powerful in subverting it^ infldelity. So, like a second
Paul, he desired to go forth in the power of the Holy
Ghost, and to preach * Christ in the synagogues,' that
He was Messiah, the Son of God, the Redeemer, and
anointed King of Israel's last remnant.

Brief was the time occupied in prq)arations for de- '
parture. Fernhill was again disposed of, and every
thing arranged for an \ entire removal from England,
whither Imlah never intended to returri. But he no
longer wished to go as a wealthy ruler — as the fether
of Israel's affianced bride. No, pride and ambition lay
buried now in Miriam's grave, and he felt that it be-
hoved him to go only as an humble, unostentatious
Christian — a lowly follower of the blessed Jesus ; pre-
pared to bear a heavy cross of persecution and con-
tempt. Changed was he indeed since he first came to
Fernhill, a proud and uncourteous Jew. His brow now
wore marks of deepest sorrow, and his cheek was fur-
rowed with many a wrinkle not there when Miriam
lived : but patience and hultnility softened the rigors of
care, and gave abeam of pious serenity to his counte-
nance which claimed both love and esteem.

The evening previously to quiting Fernhill, Imlah
walked to Glencairn to bid farewell to Mrs. Stuart and
her family, whom he now aflectionately called his
friends. Mr. Howard was there, and sincerely united
in the general regret evinced on the prospect ot such a
separation. It was a solemn parting, for each one felt
that meeting was probably their last on earth. Re-
membrances too of Miriam weighed heavily on every
heart, but she was happy, and none dared wish her from
her saintly home. Imlah, however, faintly struggled
against the indulgence of feeling ; nobly supporting,
even to the last,'his characteristic fortitude. He warmly
testified his gratitude to JVirs. Stuart forallher|kindness
to Miriam, and provided handsomely for Jessie, as the
first Christian friend of his own sweet child — ^the link

252 MIRIAM.

which had so wonderfully united that chain of mercies
in his destiny, wrought by him who had thus chosen
the * weak to confound the strong.* He then affection-
ately took his last leave of all, excepting Mr. How-
ard who accompanied him from the cottage, and would
have walked with him to Fernhill, had not Imlah ab-
ruptly stopped him on reaching the parsonage, and
taking his hand, bade him farewell. A delicate mind
is always a quick- interpreter ; Mr. Howard understood
this too well to press an unwelcome intrusion : he there-
fore fervently blessed him, and left him to follow unob-
served, the dictates of urestrained feeling. Imlah turn?
ed to watch the last of Mr. Howard, then slowly as-
cended the path leading to the churchyard.

It was a calm night and not a cloud was seen in
heaven to dim the moon beams which fell in softest
radiance on the sloping earth, where mouldered the
remains of so many departed beings. Partially shaded
by the overhanging branches of a lofty sycamore, the
lowly grave of Miriam lay amidst the records of mor-
tality, marked by no other monument than a cross of
whitest marble, which, placed at her head, bore the in-
scription of her name and age, with this simple motto :
*May Jesus* cross be Miriam's crown,' — a device which
she had herself appropriated as an acknowledgment of
her entire accedence to the Christian faith.

Here Imlah knelt and sobbed aloud beside the nar-
row grave ; and although with humble submission he
felt^tnd owned the mercy of his heavenly Father, yet
nature for a moment mastered his better feelings, and
he called in loud and piteous accents on his child, as if
his cry could surely wake her from her * long last
sleep.* But the faint murmurs of the rippling stream
which glided along the bank beneath, alone answered
his lament. All else remained serene and calm ; and
seemed in the peacefulness of that refulgent moonlight,
to mock the passing sorrows, of mankind. Imlah poured
out his very soul in the agony of that moment, and

MIRIAM. 253

longer had he perhaps complained, had not the dying
words of his Sainted Miriam rushed forcibly through
his mind, and checked the bitterness of grief ; like a
sudden spell re-awakening "the ,^ious purpose of his
chastened soul, which that agony Jiad well nigh de-
stroyed, * Yes, my sweet child,* he exclaimed, • I will
look up, and thank God that thou art there ! — and may
the blessed Jesus indeed comfort and support me, even
as he has redeemed thee/ Imlah now calmly raised
his hands to heaven, and in a solemn ejaculation de*
voted himself entirely to the Lord, fervently imploring
divine strength to aid his own weak surrender, that he
might continue steadfast lii the fkiih and ^cause of Is*
rael's Messiah !^-He then arose, and as a warrior takes
his last leave of home before approaching battle, did
Imlah once more look back on the grave where all he
loved was left, and immediately hastened from the glen.
Nor did aught else arrest him until he reached Fern-
hill, where he retired to his own room, and feeling that
he had now done with earth, he calmly awaited for the
morrow, when at sunrise, \ii4th Corah and a few faithful
adherents, he left his spJencHd home for ever, as much
regretted, as he had once been feared.

Mr. Howard was soon afterwards unexpectedly pre-
sented with the living of Glencairn, and he found that
for this he wias largely iiidebted to Imlah,. who, pre-
viously to quitting England, having heard that the rec-
tor was dangerously ill, had repaired to the bishop in
whose gift it was, to entreat his patronage in favor of
Mr. Howard, in the event of, that living becoming va-
cailt, and gave such high testimony of his character
and usefulness, as at once decided the reverend pastor
to bestow on him the possession of a church, the charge
of which he had so conscientiously fulfilled. These
glad tidings were soon communicated; and the good
pastor who thus bestowed on his people the continuance
of a shepherd so justly endeared to them, was suffi-
ciently compensated by the affectionate and unsophisti-

254 MIRIAM. *

cated delight manifested tlyroughout the village. This
was indeed a happy era to the -little (oiJaele at the glen;
and the ensuing sprihg reviTed^ail the cheerful plea-
sures of rural festivity, which had been so sadly inter- ,
rupted by the death of Miriam. Mr. Howard^ now
enabled to establish for himself a domestic home, chose
Helen Stuart as his companion : a choice mutually pre-
ferred, ahd founded on a long and intimate knowledge
of each other's worth and unaffected piety. Helen in-
deed, was neither beautiful nor accomplished — accord-
ing to the world's definition {of that hackneyed pane-
gyric— *but possessed of a strong understanaing and a
^reflective mind, she was well fitted for the enjoyment of
intellectual ^ society ; while an earthly experience of
life's vicissitudes had well disciplined her in that self-
denying forbearance, without which, the brightest des-
tiny on earth must be embittered by discord and dis-
content. Mr. Howard wisely valued these as far better
securities of domestic h^^piness than the false attrac-
tions of beauty andtaletitj which, when uifaccompanied
by more solid virtues, are alas-! but fatal snares, lead-
ing to many an ill-assorted margage. But Mr* How-
ard raised his views of worth to a higher standard, and
he married Helen, mdifferent to the opinion of such as
might have wished him a more ambitious lot, in the full
enjoyment of his happy in^pp^dence of mind and
situation. Neither was he disappointed in the destiny
he had thus selected, /or few there were so happy, as
when through many a winter's eyening he was gladden-
ed by the society of one, who, kindred to himself in
feeling and pursuit, would listen with aflectionate inte-
rest as he read to her the * light tales of poesy, or
* deeper lore,'- with which he loved to while away the
hours of recreatiori. Nor was his happiness the mere
dream of novelty, for many a year passed away since
the bells of Glencairn rang merrily on the wedding-day
of Helen Stuart ; yet every anniversary was orily« day
of increased thankfulness to the minister and his affec*
tionate wife. "^

MIRIAM. 255

Mrs. Stuart enjoyed the evening of her life in the
serenity of a pious mind ; as one who, having fulfilled
her work, waits patiently for the Lord's coining. Her
girls \tere all provided for, and Gordon fully realised
her anxious expectations as successor to his father's
kirk at Dornock hrae : and she could therefore, now
gladly bid farewell to earth, looking up above4his world
to hope for the immortal joys of a realised faith. Edith
alone was sad amidst the blessings of a kind and mer-
ciful Providence. The melancholy death of Edward
Forrester bad mairtd her happiness for ever ; and al-
though at the moment of that dreadful bereavement
she willingly devoted herself to God, she found the sur-
render no easy task. Religion looked beautiful to heif
when all other hopes but those of heaven werevswept *
away with one trememendoiis blow ; and in the excited
feelings of impetuous 'grief she believed, that she.40?||i^*^^*
gladly yield every bosom sin to obtain the peace *^**^^*^^«*^^*^

this world cannpt giije.' But alas ! ^oor Edith: Tai>^^
not how difficult it is for human natui^e to yield itsbon y^
som sins ; how impossible in human strength alone t#
conquer even the least of nature's frailties ; till return-
ing to the calm stupor of conscious weakness; she found
that her soul loathed the requirements, of religion, and
still clung to its dairling passions, as if the storm which
she believed had blasted them had only harrowed up a
more malignant host. Thus was Edith long the victim
of self-willed and wounded pride. Wherever she went
she fancied herself an object of remark and pity, to
which -^er proud mind could ill submit, and often would
she tutn from the tender sympathy of Helen, and the
forbearing kindness of her mother because she thought
them actuated more by compassion for her situation,
than by afiection for herself This was a deep and bit-
ter trial to those w|;o loved her, and many a time would
Helen leave the stricken girl, unable longer to bear the
cold repiflse with which all her eflforts of kindness were
received ; when Edith, ashamed of feeling bitterness

256 MIRIAM. *

towards such a one as Helen, would often follow her,
and piteouslv implore to be forgiven and again beloved.
But at length time and religion wrought thecur^yirhich
had been above the reach of human skill, and Edith
became more submissive to the sad destiny which her
own warped mind had darkened. She no longer in-
dulged in the selfishness of gloomy sorrow, but exerted
herself to assume the cheerfulness which those who
loved Jier Iqnged to see restored. She looked, indeed,
like a blasted lily ; still fair, although the l^oom of
beauty had faded from her young oheek ; and faint was
the smile which sometimes for a moment reminded the
eye of what she once had been. Gordon, who had
Visited his maternal home to celebrate the marriage of
Helen, persuaded Edith to return with him to Dornock
brae, afiectionately solicitous that she should if possible,
^be diverted, by change of scene, from those melancholy
associiitions naturally indulged where every object but
too forcibly recalled sad and painful remembrances.
This proposal was gladly accepted by all parties ; nor
did Edith again return to Glencairn, but ever afterwards
remained the mistress of the manse where her first
^breath was drawn ; and where, under the pious influence
of her tender brother, who devoted mmself to her
comfort, she daily regained composure of mind in the
earnest strivings after holiness ; for, although not happy,
she at length enjoyed that peace which ever falleth on
the patient believer.

Jesse, no longer * little Jessie,' remained the sweet
and affectionate companion of her mother. Full of
animation, she enlivened all around her by a vivacity,
which, softened by an uncommon gentleness of voice
and manner gave a peculiar attraction to her artless
character. Ever did she remember Miriam with grate-
ful delight, and often would she wander to Miriam's
grotto, to indulge the sad reverie of departed affection
which she had there so often enjoyed ; so seldom can
kindness received in our childhood be forgotten^ The

MIRIAM. 2

III

flowers, too, which she had planted over Miriam's
g"rave, were ever fondly fostered by her care, and twin-
ing in graceful simplicity around the marble cross, re-
mained fit emblems of her mind, whose memory they
were intended to preserve.'

Poor Corah did not long remain faithful in her ad-
herence to a religion which lightly embraced was again
lightly resigned. Shortly after her return to Germany
she maried an opulent Jew, and readily professed to
believe it her duty to adopt the sentiments of her hus-
band. Thus, like the unhappy church of Laodicea,
* neither warm nor cold,' she lost all zeal in Christian-
ity, evinced none in the apostate cause.

Imlah Durvan continued a zealous and successful
missionary, indefatigable in his labors of love, abound-
ing in the works of the Lord, and preaching the glad
tidings of salvation to the unbelievers in Syria, Pales-
tine, and Turkey. He died in the Holy Land, full of
age and honor ; and through many a year has since
fallen from the hand of time, the name of Imlah still
stands recorded in the annajs of Christian biography, as
the founder of mahy a Christian church, where but for
him — humanly speaking — ^no temple had been raised
save those of idolatry and superstition. Thus does
God in his infinite mercy to the souls of men, * turn
the hearts of the disobedient to the wisdom of the just,'
that his name may be heard among the heathen, and
his salvation known through all the ends of the world,
showing mercy unto thousands, who receiving Christ
on earth, shall through Him inherit everlasting life.

And now, if the feeble voice of one who is herself
but a very babe in Christian attainments, dare utter an
exhortation to others on a subject so important, the
author would solemnly urge the readers of this little
tale to seek for moral, rather than amusement, from
the pages of a work claiming no merit, save in the
desire with which it has been written, — to allure the
youilg to Scriptural enquiry in those doctrines in

258 MIRIAM.

which the Christian foith is founded, and to lead theirs
to a study of that sacred volume where the great mys-
tery of salvation lies revealed. It is not enough to
believe that * Jesus is the Lord,' if resting on this pass-
ive faith we still live aliens from the service of Christ,
ignorant of the wa/y in which He would have us to
walk. If we would he saved, we must first know the
inherent corruptions of our hearts, the dreadful penal-
ty of Adam's transgression, and tfie way of escape,*
established for the lost children of apostate man.
Whence then is this knowledge to be derived but from
the written word of God ? and how is this knowledge
to be attained if we leave, sealed and neglected, that
blessed revelation which God in infinite mercy, has
fixed before us, even as a chart to guide the lost pil-
grim to his home j as a mirror, in which if we but
look we shall see reflected all that in this life we need
know of God and heaven \ of Christ and his salvation ;
^ ourselves and the dreadful fires of perdition ! Alas f
then, while we mourn dver the darkness of Israel, shall
we remain worse than blind ourselves, and not se-
riously strive to seek the sun of righteousness,' which
has risen over us with every healing in his wings ?^
healing for the ' blind or maimed,' or halt or broken-
hearted %

If indeed the name of Christianity were a sufficiient
passport to heaven, we might close our Bibles, spare
the soul's labor and enjoy the pleasures of this world,,
fearless of the coming judgment of another. But aU
though ' there is no other name given under heavenr
by which men can be saved,' yet the name alone^
powerful as it is, without the spirit of Christ, cannot
save. To be meet for the kingdom of heaven, we
must be * holy even as God is holy ; ' we must * cast oft
the works of darkness^ and put on the whole armor of
light ; we must be members of Christ, even as engraft-
ed branches of the *tree of life,' whose fruit is with-
out spot or blemish ; we must forgive as we hope to.

MIRIAM. 259

be forgiven, and bless them which curse us ;' we must
present our bodies a living sacrifice, holy and accepta-
ble unto the Lord, and be transformed by the renew-
ing of our minds, proving what is that good and per-
fect will of God.* * Be fervent in spirit : serving the
Lord, rejoicing in hope ; patient in tribulation, and
continuing instant in prayer.' Nay, it is even said,
* that we must 'put on the Lord Jesus Christ/ Is this
then an easy obedience ? Is it a light thing to do our
duty — to be meet for the inheritance of the * saints in
glory V No it is so difficult that were it not for the
aids of grace which we receive through the Holy
Spirit, man would find it as impossible as to create
heaven itself.

There may be some who will perhaps also condemn
a tale of this kind as involving a controversy in which
Christians are not concernced, and will say that we
have no right to interfere in the converBion of others,
or to dive into prophecies and revelations relating oi^
ly to Jews and infidels. To such sophists we will at-
tempt no reply, convinced that if they feel no personal
interest in the salvation of God's alienated people,
our brethren, as children of * Our Father,' it is vain to
suppose that human argument can excite it. But, my
young readers, let us remember — and in all sincerity of
heart do'es the author implicate herself in the exhorta-
tion — that every heart is a ruined Jerusalem, every
hand has crucified the • Lord of Life; ' and as such,
•there is not a single prophecy or revelation in the sa-
bered scriptures in which we have not a personal and
important concern. Tell me, is there one of us to
whom Christ might not say, * How often would I have
gathered thee, even as a hen gathereth her chickens
under her wings, and ye would not ?' Might He not
say to one and all of us, * Ah sinful people, laden
with iniquity, a seed of evil doers children that are
>f:orrupters, ye have forsaken the Lord, and provoked
the Holy One to anger ; ye are gone backward !

260 MIRIAM.

Mig^ht he not justly loathe oar cold and heartless de-
Totiong, and declare * it is iniquity ? ' Is there one ol
us who needs not this gracious promise of mercy,
* thoug-h your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white
as snow ; though they be red like crimson, they shall
be as wool V O surely not 1 Then let us beware
how ye reject the word of prophecy, denying it as a
part of our faith, lest it should hereafter be advanced
in judgment against us, and &tally condemn ns to the
everlasting wrath of offended Efeity Let us judo^e
ourselves that we be not 'judged of the Lord ;' and let
us remember Grod's ancient people with tender love
and compassion, ofiering up our prayers for their de-
liverance, and mourn over them as we might mourn
the delinquency of an elder brother. But ' blessed be
God, there is a fountain opened for sin and for un-
cleanness,* in which the vilest sinner may wash in
faith and be made righteous. May you who read, then,
find she who now writes, so * lay these things to heart,'
that they may bring forth in each of us Increasing de-
sires after holiness, and fruits unto life everlasting !

THE END.

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